


Your Trouble Is In You

by druxykexy



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, M/M, Memory Loss, Pining, Romance, Spock Prime Big Bang, Spock/Uhura (background), Suicidal Thoughts, Uhura is awesome, Wink of an Eye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1684307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druxykexy/pseuds/druxykexy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock Prime relies on his memories of Jim to cope with being stranded in an alternate universe. But after he is poisoned by an unknown substance, his ability to remember his past begins to fade. The crew of the Enterprise join him in his search to find a cure before all of his memories are gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Discernible Form or Location

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [RowanBaines](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanBaines/pseuds/RowanBaines) and [vulcaneyebrows](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcaneyebrows/pseuds/vulcaneyebrows)  
> for taking the time to beta this!
> 
> The wonderful art embedded in this story was created by: [hereidreamtiwasanartist](http://hereidreamtiwasanartist.tumblr.com/), [uss-whatever](http://uss-whatever.tumblr.com/), and [princessofswordsart](http://princessofswordsart.tumblr.com/)
> 
> This story was written for the [Spock Prime Big Bang](http://spockprimebbang.livejournal.com/) challenge.

Day 1

 

 

The knock on Spock’s door was not as unexpected as it should have been.

He paused to lower his heart rate to a speed appropriate for a Vulcan one-hundred and fifty-eight years of age, only to confirm the identity of the visitor through his viewer and have all his efforts undone.

It was precisely what he had hoped to avoid.

He disengaged the locks.

“Hello, old friend,” the young Captain Kirk said. He was bracing a moderately-sized storage container against the wall. There was sweat in his hair and patches of red dust on his skin. His smile, however, was effortless.

“I am honored by your visit.” Spock stepped aside to allow him entrance into his home.

The captain’s movements were unlike his Jim’s. They were quicker, almost awkward, and while he appeared to possess an awareness of his own attractiveness, he had not yet mastered the intricacies of it. He did not know that by standing in closer proximity, lowering his eyelids, and moving with more deliberateness how much power he held—even over someone proficient in suppressing their effects.

It was appropriate for Spock to spend time observing the details of Kirk’s appearance and mannerisms. It would assist him in his efforts to differentiate between this captain and the one he had known so long ago.

“The communication sent by my younger self,” Spock said, “indicated that I would not be speaking with a representative from the Enterprise until its second day on the colony.”

“That probably would have been a better idea.” Kirk shifted his grip on the container. “It would have been cooler in the morning. This climate may actually be worse than everybody says it is.”

It had been awhile since Spock’s eyebrow had ascended with such swiftness. “Indeed.”

“I’m glad we were able to find a planet suitable for Vulcans though. Are you enjoying it here?”

“It is adequate for my needs.”

Kirk glanced at the object in his arms. “Did Spock—um, younger-you—explain that we brought your belongings that Starfleet recovered from Delta Vega?”

“He did.”

Kirk appeared to be waiting for something.

Terran etiquette had never come easily to Spock as it relied on both empathy and the anticipation of human needs. After the last few decades, he had fallen out of the habit of considering either.

“So,” Kirk adjusted his hold for a second time, “here they are.”

Etiquette also lacked the efficiency found in simply asking what was required.

Spock took the container. It occurred to him that it would be considered heavy by human standards. His suspicions were confirmed as he watched Kirk flex his wrists in relief.

Spock set the container on counter. He would put away its contents after the departure of his guest. It had been over a year since he had seen these belongings and another hour would make little difference. None of them had been of particular importance.

But it was because there were no items of significance, no secrets to be confiscated, that his personal belongings were available to be returned. Their very meaninglessness had brought him Kirk.

It was an unnecessary thought. He silently chastised himself for it.

“Let me know if anything is missing,” Kirk said.

None of the items would be valuable enough to justify doing so. “You have my gratitude.”

Kirk made a dismissive wave. “The gratitude’s mine. Younger-you is making it his personal responsibility to oversee the unloading of supplies. I’m getting so many complaints from the crew that he’s running them ragged. I think he’s afraid us non-Vulcans are going to do something to embarrass him.” He paused, his eyes widening. “Not to imply that you feel embarrassment.” His eyes widened further. “Or fear. Or that you, uh, feel.”

Spock turned his head to conceal his amusement. “If you are seeking a reason to lengthen the duration of your absence, perhaps I may offer you tea? Or coffee?”

Despite the physical impossibility, Kirk’s presence seemed to expand. His shoulders squared.

“You have coffee? I didn’t think Vulcans approved of caffeine.” He froze. “It’s not decaf is it?”

“It is not.” Spock barely spared a thought in reprimand at the warmth in his own voice. Nor did he verbally elaborate on what a negligible effect that particular chemical would have on his physiology, as he would have in his youth. Explanations, he had found over the years, had a way of detracting from the moment.

“Great,” Kirk said. “I’ll take mine iced. And do you—”

They were interrupted by the chirp of a communicator. Kirk held up a hand in apology before he flipped it open.

“Kirk, here.” He frowned as he listened to the caller.

Spock could hear the demanding—apparently, universally so—voice of Doctor McCoy through the device. The exchange was brief, and when it was done Kirk’s shoulders had assumed a weary slump.

“I apologize,” Kirk said. “I’m going to have to take a rain check on the coffee.”

“You will always be welcome, Captain Kirk.” Spock kept his tone even and free from disappointment. He accompanied Kirk to the door.

“Will you be at the council meeting tomorrow?” Kirk asked.

“I will.”

“Good.” Kirk’s smile was striking, although the blue eyes detracted from the effect. “It will be nice to see a familiar face.”

It was a human expression that, while oversimplified and somewhat inaccurate, Spock not only understood but had a certain appreciation for.

Spock raised his hand in salute. “Live long and prosper.”

“Same to you, old friend.” Kirk gave him a parting wave, and then he was gone.

Spock found, in the resulting solitude, that his thoughts were more disorganized than was acceptable. Meditation would be an advisable course of action.

But not yet. He turned his attention to the storage container. It was a responsibility—something to be put away, something to be done.

He opened the lid. Inside was an assortment of his personal effects: clothing, hygiene products, a ceramic cup for tea, and a small, wooden box. Perrin had given him the box before he made his final journey into Romulan space. He had never opened it, nor had he read the letter that had accompanied it—the letter which now appeared to be missing.

Spock rechecked the contents of the container and confirmed that the letter was not present.

He resisted the urge to contact Kirk and inform him of the unaccounted for item. The letter had never been intended for him after all, but for Sarek. It had arrived after his death, and Perrin had kept it and the box in her possession for years with the expectation that she would pass them on to Spock when he came to visit the home she had shared with Sarek. That he never did so had apparently been a source of some offense. But it was a human custom to seek sentiment in the belongings of the deceased, and not one of Vulcans.

Its loss was of little consequence. It was acceptable that if the addressee had never had the opportunity to read it then neither should Spock. The same could be done with the box—let it remain something that neither he nor Sarek would ever know the contents of.

He picked it up to examine it. The impulse to let it remain unopened was illogical. Sarek would not have seen the value in his attempt to share such an experience with him, least of all one involving willful ignorance. The item was either useful or not, and that reasoning would be the only one used to determine if it earned a place in his home.

The lid was tight, absent of any hinge and was held on only by its precise fit. Spock slid the pieces apart, and the deep, pungent odor alerted him to its purpose before the contents became visible. Incense. All of the ingredients that made up the fragrance were familiar except for one that remained unidentifiable. He suspected it had been expensive, likely a gift from one diplomat to another. But despite having made an astronomically unlikely journey, it possessed no real value or meaning. A trinket that’s final destination was as incomprehensible as Perrin’s belief that it somehow belonged with Spock.

Spock saw no benefit in further delaying his meditation. He left the items on his counter to be put away when he was done. His mats were quickly arranged on the floor, and then he placed the cone on a small, heat-resistant disk. But he hesitated before igniting it. First he lit the candles and ordered the computer to lower the artificial light. It was only a minor variance in his evening ritual.

Change was acceptable. Over the years even the core of his meditations had changed their form. While the purpose was still his pursuit of order and tranquility, his method in doing so had changed. It was not one that was unheard of. Many his age, when more ties had been lost than retained, considered it an effective strategy against loss. With perfect recall it was possible to relive times that were better unforgotten. Those moments where those he felt affection for would always be waiting for him.

The incense was easy to ignite, but its scent was unpleasant and sharp, the unidentified ingredient predominating over the rest. But he did not exchange it for one that was more pleasing.

If he had been purely human, he might have suspected his motivation stemmed from attributed significance to something that shared ties with his reality when so little was left. And while he was incapable of such feelings, he still closed his eyes and inhaled the scent deep into his nostrils, as if to make it a part of him.

Numbness struck his throat. The need to cough was strong, but he was no longer able to. His eyes would not open. He could not step back, but sank to the carpet, more smoke entering with each breath. He knew that the numbness was unwelcome, knew that it should be stopped.

But the paralytic effect was quick, crossing from his body and into his thoughts. The alarm he felt dissolved into complacency. His survival was no longer important. He could see no logic in resisting the inevitable dispersion into nothing. Nor could he see what the use was in despairing of more loss, when so much was already gone. And then he could see nothing at all.

 

**Day 4**

 

“He is awake,” a flat voice said in Standard. Spock recognized the speaker as Sotik, the healer that had been in his mind only moments before, but he was unable to recall the purpose for the meld.

“I need to speak with him,” Jim said. He was shielding from Spock and there was an unfamiliar quality to his voice. It was not due to the emotion it contained, but rather as if the tone itself was being subjected to distortion.

Spock was lying on his back. The smoothly plastered dome of the ceiling was one that he had seen before. It was from his home on the Vulcan Colony.

He experienced a moment of disconcertion. It was impossible that this was his home. He had never lived on a Vulcan colony.

“You will not find the information you seek from him,” Sotik said.

“Why? Can’t he speak?” It was McCoy’s voice, but it was affected by a distortion similar to Jim’s.

“His mind is not reliable,” Sotik said.

The silence that followed matched the one opening inside of Spock, as if parts of his mind had been dampened, were unable to tell him something important, something he needed to know.

“Was there permanent damage…?” The concern in Jim’s voice was unexpected. The shield had prevented Spock from having any warning of it, except—

Except that Jim was not shielding. _Jim was dead._

Jim had been dead for a long time. Spock closed his eyes. He reminded his body to breathe. To push air in and out. A necessary life function.

“Despite your insistence to the contrary, Captain,” Sotik said, “there is still no evidence of an attack.”

Spock sat up. There were more visitors in his home than it could comfortably hold. He recognized them all, but there was a _wrongness_ in the details in their appearances. Small variations between how they should have been and—

And he remembered the wormhole. Delta Vega. Nero—

He was pulled from his thoughts as Uhura pressed a cup into his hands. It was the ceramic one he had used for decades, and the gently sloshing water made him aware of how parched his mouth was. He took a sip. The water had been warmed, demonstrating a surprising degree of familiarity with Vulcan preferences.

“I’d still like to question him about it,” Kirk said. The concern in his voice was also visible on his face.

Doctor McCoy and Lieutenant Uhura had similar expressions.

“You’ll get your turn in a moment, Jim,” McCoy said as he pushed past the others, med kit in hand.

Spock’s younger self’s thoughts were tightly concealed, likely due to the presence of a full-blooded Vulcan. But Spock could guess at what they were, at how uncomfortable seeing his older self in a weakened and degraded state must be.

It had been illogical to mistake Kirk for Jim.

“There is no need to repeat your scans now that he is conscious,” Sotik said. “His physical health is remarkable for someone of his constitution. His malady is purely mental, and remains unchanged.”

McCoy hesitated, glancing first to the healer and then to Kirk. At Kirk’s slight nod, McCoy resumed his approach.

Sotik gave no outward indication that he was affected by having his recommendation ignored.

Spock allowed McCoy to run the scanner over him. While he was not fond of the administrations, he was too preoccupied to question them. There were deficiencies in his thought processes that were difficult to define.

“What happened after I left?” Kirk asked. “Did anyone else visit before Uhura arrived?”

Spock looked at Uhura. “Forgive me, but I have no recollection of the Lieutenant’s arrival.”

“You were already unconscious by that point,” Uhura said. “When you didn’t answer the door I was concerned and I contacted security and had them override your locks. That’s when I found you lying on the floor.”

Spock had no response. Her actions, both in visiting and in forcing entry, were incomprehensible given the current parameters of their acquaintance.

“When I couldn’t wake you up I sent for help,” Uhura continued, “but I didn’t see any signs of an intrusion.”

“Do you remember anything?” Kirk asked Spock.

He did have a vague recollection of a shipping container and Perrin’s gift, although the details were missing. It was like he was viewing the events through distorted glass.

“I believe my—” Spock paused, disinclined to use the term _malady_ , “condition was brought on from inhaling the smoke from what I suspect was contaminated incense.”

“Which one?” Kirk asked, striding over to the small table where the candles and incense were kept.

Spock could see from where he sat that it was gone. “It was on the disk, beside the wooden box that it arrived in.”

Kirk frowned at the empty spot, and then leaned down to look under the table. When he found nothing, he picked up the box and turned it over in his hands, as if the answer might be carved somewhere on its surface.

“It’s gone,” Kirk said. “Did anyone move it?”

The general consensus was negative.

“From where did you acquire the incense?” his younger self asked. He took the box from Kirk to make his own inspection.

“It was a gift from Perrin.”

“Perrin?” Kirk asked.

“Someone who was not fond of me.” Although it was difficult to imagine that she would attempt to cause him harm. Spock felt the corners of his mouth pull downward, and despite the flicker of distaste in Sotik’s eyes, he deemed the gesture appropriate.

Kirk’s own frown was more pronounced. “Do you think Perrin could have had anything to do—?”

“As I informed you previously,” Sotik said, “there is no evidence of any attack.”

“Is the onset of Bendii Syndrome suspected?” Spock asked.

“It is not,” Sotik said, “although there are similarities. From my experience with human minds, I would attribute your condition to some type of human degenerative memory disorder.”

_Another side effect of his weak human blood._

Sotik continued, “Perhaps Alzheimer’s or—”

“Alzheimer’s and similar forms of degenerative memory loss have been eradicated from the human population,” his younger self said.

“Spock—our Spock—is right,” McCoy said. “It was made standard to take preventative measures against those conditions decades ago, and three days of unconsciousness was not a regular symptom even if it was. My scanners don’t indicate that type of problem. Actually, my scanners aren’t detecting anything at all. He needs more advanced tests.”

Three days of unconsciousness? There had been no indication of the lapse in time.

Spock made a conscious effort to relax the muscles in his shoulders and neck. The circumstances were requiring an uncommonly high degree of intervention in his physical reactions.

“It is not a Vulcan condition.” Sotik did not shrug, but the gesture was implied. “While there would be some minor scientific interest in monitoring the effects of a human syndrome on someone of partial Vulcan heritage, there is nothing further that can be done for him.”

“Bullshit,” Kirk said.

Sotik stared at him, eyebrows raised.

“He needs medical attention.” Kirk took a step toward the healer. “Are you denying him that?”

“You are welcome to take him to the Vulcan Institute of Healing, but I assure you their prognosis will not differ from mine.”

Kirk looked first toward Spock, and then toward his younger self. “Is that likely?”

His younger self spoke carefully. “Diagnostic practices are standardized. The results are unlikely to vary.”

“Captain Kirk,” Sotik said, “there is no reason to allocate resources to assist in what is merely the natural result of advanced age.”

Sotik’s words alluded to a concept that the humans would be disinclined to agree with. There was a time, not often spoken of, when Vulcans reached a point where their usefulness was outweighed by the resources they consumed. Requests to sustain such an existence would be fulfilled, but they would not be encouraged.

“It’s not a natural result if someone poisoned him,” Kirk said. His hands remained at his sides, but were now balled into fists.

It was time for Spock to say something to calm him, to reassure him that it was unnecessary to become further involved in Vulcan matters. Even if Spock agreed with Kirk’s argument, it did not change that he was long past his prime, and stranded far from everything he cared about.

It was only logical to take the burden of his departure upon himself. Even if it would be difficult to make Kirk understand.

“I do not believe Perrin would be capable of poisoning me,” Spock said.

“Maybe.” Kirk’s pause lasted exactly point eight seconds. “But he’s still the best person to lead us to whoever was responsible. Where can we find him?”

“I was acquainted with Perrin in my own reality. She will not be born for another fifty-eight years in yours.”

“Ah.” Kirk’s face fell. “Well, we can still have the box analyzed for traces of the chemical that had this effect on you.” He turned to McCoy. “Bones, can you do more for him on the ship?”

“I can run more in depth tests.” McCoy frowned. “But this isn’t something I’ve encountered before.”

“Alright. Then it’s settled. Spock,” Kirk turned toward him, and on his face was a look Spock remembered from his Jim. It was the one that meant he was going to lose the debate. “You’re coming back with us. Either we’ll find a way to cure you, or we’ll take you some place where they can.”

His younger self was staring at Kirk in a way that he also recognized, in a way that suggested he felt more than pride for his captain. It was disturbing to think that he had ever been so transparent.

“I do not wish to interrupt the operations of the Enterprise,” Spock said, “with an ailment that is unlikely to be life-threatening.”

Kirk waved him off. “We leave tomorrow morning at 0900.”

Spock hesitated for only a moment. “Acknowledged, Captain Kirk.”

“If there is no further need of my services,” Sotik said, bowing his head, “I will depart.”

It would be illogical to experience satisfaction at the slight flaring of Sotik’s nostrils.

“Dif-tor heh smusma,” Uhura said. She held up her hand and her fingers parted easily in salute.

It took Spock a moment to mask his surprise. Sotik was less successful. His mouth parted without sound, and it was three point two second before he finally managed to return the gesture. Although when he spoke, he chose to speak the words in Standard.

“Live long and prosper,” Sotik said, addressing the entire group. He left quickly.

Spock’s younger self turned to fix Uhura with the same look he had given Kirk only a moment before.

It was disconcerting.

“Lieutenant?” Kirk said to Uhura.

She nodded. “I’ll assist in getting him ready to go.”

Spock would have protested, but Kirk spoke first.

“Alright, while I’ll miss my communications officer, Spock should be able to fill in while she’s here.” Kirk gave his younger self a look, another one that Spock remembered well. “Lucky for us he just happens to be fluent in the local dialects.”

His younger self folded his hands behind his back. “It would be statistically unlikely, within the parameters of our current voyage, for me to be unversed in any local language. Further, even if I were, the employment of the universal translator would make that concern obsolete.”

“It has its limitations,” Kirk said, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. “And I wouldn’t be so quick to discredit the job of a certain lieutenant.”

His younger self tensed, his eyes darting to Uhura, but he relaxed when he saw that her irritation was clearly feigned.

“I would not question the validity of the position of our communications officer. However, as you are aware that we are on a _Vulcan_ colony, and are not oblivious of my heritage, I will consider that statement to be an example of what passes for humor.”

“It does more than just pass,” Kirk said.

McCoy rolled his eyes as he packed away his med kit. “Let’s leave him to rest.”

“I have,” Spock said, “taken an adequate amount of rest over the last three days.”

McCoy shook his head. “A coma isn’t rest.”

“A Vulcan healing trance,” his younger self said, “is not a coma.”

Spock was not entirely convinced it had been a healing trance, but it was difficult to agree with McCoy.

McCoy’s nostrils flared. “I don’t care—”

“Regardless of the terminology, Bones is right,” Kirk said, and Spock’s attention was momentarily drawn away by Kirk’s smile and his tone that was meant to reassure. “You’re still recovering. You need to take it easy and let us help you.”

He needed to be alone. He required time to meditate, to see if he could create some order in the chaos in his mind.

But instead Spock said, “I assure you that—”

“Besides,” Kirk made a sweeping gesture toward Uhura, “the lieutenant here has already said she’s staying to help you pack. And you don’t want to piss her off.”

Spock felt his eyebrow arch in reply, only to notice that his expression was mirrored by his counterpart. He immediately smoothed his features into a state of placidity.

His younger self did the same.

“I suspect,” Spock said after a moment, “that I will not be allowed to stay here unmonitored.”

McCoy had finished gathering his supplies. “Until we know what caused your blackout we can’t risk leaving you alone.”

There was technology available that would provide sufficient monitoring, but he was outnumbered by the humans and their irrationality. He inclined his head in the slightest gesture of acceptance. Or defeat.

“Great.” Kirk grinned, and patted him on the shoulder. “I can’t wait to see what you think of the Enterprise, and find out if she’s any different than the one in your reality.” He moved toward the door.

The idea of making such a comparison was oddly unappealing. He would have expected his reaction to be one of curiosity. Of course, there was still so much that was unsettled in his mind.

McCoy nodded to Spock. “Now you tell Uhura if anything seems out of the ordinary. Even if it’s just a little headache, I want to know about it.”

“I will keep you informed.” Spock refrained from further argument.

Uhura stepped closer to his younger self. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She pressed her lips lightly to his.

Whatever was said afterward, Spock did not hear it. He was only aware of his pulse, all too audible in his ears, and of his breath as he forced it to remain unaffected.

He had known of this—of their relationship, but it was a different matter entirely to see it.

It was not adultery. His younger self was doing nothing incorrect, even if it was—displeasing—to witness.

He noted that Kirk was also watching them. Kirk hesitated for just a moment too long before he averted his gaze, and what Spock saw in his expression—

Spock felt something sharp slice into his palm. The ceramic cup had cracked, and a shard had pierced his skin.

One less thing that had survived from his reality.

_It was irrelevant_. If he allowed sentiment to distract him the humans would notice his instability and it would increase the duration of their visit. The tissue damage was minimal. He flattened his palm against his robes, and concealed the remnants of the cup among his bedding.

Their goodbyes were brief, but there was a warmth to Kirk’s that should not have been, not after so little time. But he was thankful for it, just as he was thankful to see him go.

Then he was alone with Uhura.

“Doctor McCoy and Sotik told me it would be a good idea if you ate something soon,” she said, “something light, such as a broth. Would you like me to get something for you?”

“I am not in need of assistance.” He forced the edge from his voice as he got to his feet. He was not as unsteady as he had feared. “You have already been more than accommodating during my illness, Lieutenant Uhura.”

“You may call me Nyota.” She smiled. “Your younger self does.”

It would be illogical to consider the request distasteful. He would abide by it.

“Nyota.” The word felt heavy, regardless. “Now that the worst of my malady has passed, I will have no trouble in seeing to my own needs. You may join me at the table, if you wish, although I have little that would appeal to the human palate.”

“The captain brought me some things that I stored in your cupboard. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It was necessary.” He dispensed hot water into a bowl and added a bland, nutritional paste that had become a regular source of sustenance.

He sat down at the table. He saw that she had an assortment of fruits and breads laid out on several plates. All of it was vegetarian.

“You’re welcome to have some if you want.” Uhura spread her fingers out, palm-side up in the direction of the food. “I noticed you don’t have a food synthesizer.”

“There is one available for my use should I require it.”

She was different than the Uhura he had served with for so many years. That one had been fiercely independent, and like Jim, unafraid to ask for what she wanted. Unafraid to be human. But in this one he could see traces of Vulcan behavior, in her reserve, in her dedication to service above all else. It would be difficult to envision her singing on the bridge. It was as if, much in the way that Jim had humanized him, his younger self had Vulcanized Uhura.

Odd, that he would consider that to be a negative influence.

He discouraged conversation while they ate. Uhura did not seem bothered by this.

“Are you tired?” She asked when they finished.

He was not. “I believe there would be some benefit in lying down.” Particularly, the solitude.

“I can take care of packing your things while you rest. In the morning you can look over them and add anything I’ve missed.”

It was needlessly inefficient to have someone unfamiliar with his belongings do the bulk of the packing, but he nodded. Perhaps meditation would remove the persistent lack of clarity in his mind, and rid his thoughts of their increasing hostility.

Uhura’s assistance, while unasked for, was given out of compassion. Once his self-control was restored, it would be easier to be kind to her.

He returned to his bed, and while he had only intended to meditate, he found that it was difficult to remain awake. Before tiredness overcame him, he traced his memories back and discovered that they only became less precise after he had first begun his efforts in unifying the Vulcans and the Romulans. It was over a decade before anyone else should have been aware of his involvement, but it was possible that the unidentified compound in the incense had been designed to degrade all of his knowledge related to the cause.

Whether Perrin was a willing agent or not would never be known. There was even some possibility, though he thought it unlikely, that it had been Sarek’s doing. Spock had publicly opposed his father over the unification, and perhaps he had planned to take action against him. Still, it was suspicious that the package had been addressed to his father and not himself, and that, if Perrin had told the truth, it had arrived after Sarek’s death.

In was unpleasant to contemplate what his father would be willing to do for a cause he truly believed in. It could have been much worse than damaging the last few decades of Spock’s memories. At least, whoever was behind the attack, had not taken the ones that were the most important.

As he moved towards unconsciousness he allowed himself to slip into his thoughts of Jim, still intact, and waiting for him.


	2. Those Are Undesirable Qualities

**Day 5**

 

Spock’s initial thought upon waking was that he no longer recognized his hands. They were not entirely unfamiliar, but enough of the details were wrong to create a sense of displacement, as if he were in a body that was not his own.

Rest had done nothing to improve the clarity of his memories, although he was less disoriented than the day before. He remembered his more distant past, and thus was spared the experience of reliving his most painful losses. But recent events, his location and those associated tragedies, were slower to emerge.

Yesterday had also become unclear.

He did not suppress his frown. He remembered who had been present, and the subjects discussed, but the most of the finer nuances were gone. He could not recall exact phrases, or the gestures that had accompanied them. It was possible that he no longer possessed the ability to make new memories with any sort of precision or permanence.

But perhaps the final stage of his existence was not something that he wanted to remember with accuracy. Perhaps it was acceptable now to only retain the past.

The direction of his thoughts had become unproductive. The greatest benefit would be found by discovering the cause of his condition, and using that information to create a cure. It was possible that insight could be found by studying the exact moment his memories became imprecise.

He sifted through his fractured, unfocused thoughts until he came to the most recent event that was undamaged. It was a diplomatic endeavor concerning the actions of the Klingon Oversight Council that—that had occurred over a decade before he had made his first secret step toward reunification.

Last night he had been certain the memory loss had not extended beyond that point. Either he had been incorrect previously, or—

Or the memory loss was progressive.

“You’re awake,” Uhura said.

Spock moved into a sitting position. Uhura was seated at the table. One of his travel bags was open in front of her, and another he did not recognize was at her feet.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” he said.

“Nyota, remember?” She winced at her choice of words. “I apologize. That was thoughtless.”

“No offense was intended,” he shook his head, “and none was taken.”

She approached, offering her hand. “Let me help you up.”

He got to his feet before she reached him. He noticed that he was not as sore as he usually was upon waking, possibly due to his multiple days of unconsciousness. The trade-off was less than satisfactory.

Uhura did not appear offended as she let her hand drop to her side. “Do all Vulcans sleep longer as they get older? Spock, I mean, my Spock—”

He experienced an unpleasant reaction at her choice of phrasing. He silently berated himself for it.

“—barely sleeps more than a few hours at night, and I suspect a decent amount of that is really meditation.”

“The reverse is more often true. Often, we subject our bodies to less physical and mental demands as we age, and so less sleep is required.”

“Oh.” She appeared troubled.

It was then that he realized that he was no longer aware of the time.

“We have a little over and hour before we have to leave,” she said, as if she had somehow sensed his predicament. “I packed some things for you, but only basic clothes and supplies, so if there is anything else you need, or if you wish to check over the contents we still have time.”

He had always been able to monitor the passage of time. It was inconceivable that this had changed so suddenly—that another one of his mental faculties had ceased to function.

“Are you ok?”

He looked at her sharply. “I am adequate, considering the circumstances.” He had thought his expression had been controlled enough. “What reason would you have to suspect otherwise?”

“When my Spock is worrying—I mean, _thinking,_ about something unpleasant, there is this slight tenseness in his face. I thought I noticed it in you.”

Only Jim had ever been able to read Spock’s emotions when he was actively suppressing them. Even his mother could never do so with the same degree of accuracy as Jim.

Her expression faltered. “I’m sorry. You’ve been through different things—so much more than he has—I shouldn’t assume.”

“I am merely anticipating my—” he paused, the word _return_ no longer fit, “—visit to the Enterprise.”

Relief was evident on her features. “Would you like something to eat while you look through your things?”

“I would prefer to take sustenance aboard the ship.”

She nodded and returned to her seat at the table. “Ok, I’ve already eaten, so I’m ready to go as soon as you are.” There was a subtle change in her demeanor. She was now more subdued.

Humans often found the refusal of their offers of service disappointing, despite the reduction in the amount of work that was then required of them.

Spock positioned himself across from her. “I am indebted to you for your assistance, Nyota.”

“That’s alright.” She gave him a slight smile and an even slighter shrug. “I know I wasn’t around to look after you in your later years in your reality. But I’m here now.”

Spock stared at her. The conversation had departed from his expectations.

“And it’s not like you were too much trouble,” Uhura continued. “Except for the part where I was worried you weren’t going to wake up again, it was almost like a vacation. You slept through most of the four days I spent here.”

He had not been aware that she had stayed for more than one night. There was no reason for her to consider it to be her or her counterpart’s responsibility to look after him—unless she had grossly misunderstood the nature of their relationship in _his_ reality.

Spock would correct the error immediately. Once she was aware that they had never been romantically involved, she would know that she was free from any obligation concerning him.

It was what he would have done in his youth. But he had learned from his years among humans and his time with Jim that directness was rarely perceived as kindness.

There was also the possibility that it would create friction in her working relationship with Kirk, and that it would cast doubts in her mind about the validity of her current relationship. A seed that, once planted, would grow into unrest—a divide between his younger self and a person who should never have been more than a colleague.

It was an unnecessary thought, and he silenced it.

“I need to inform the Vulcan Council of my departure,” Spock said.

“My Spock and the captain took care of that for you.” Uhura set what he now knew was her bag by the door.

“Their efforts on my behalf are appreciated.”

Spock accessed his computer to check his messages. She was correct. The Vulcan Council was already aware of his illness, and had shifted his responsibilities elsewhere. Arrangements had been made to allow someone else the use of his domicile with the understanding that he would be assigned a new one if he returned. Any belongings left behind would be neatly sealed away in a storage facility. The only thing required of him was to leave.

It did not take long to check the contents of his bag and make a few small additions. Soon after, they had left what was no longer his home and arrived at the place where they would be transported to the ship.

The heat seemed to have had only a minor effect on Uhura. It was possible that the severe manner in which she wore her hair had the benefit of allowing more air to circulate around her face and neck.

The critical nature of the thought was unnerving. The lieutenant was an exceptional communications officer and a loyal member of the crew. Superficial considerations such as physical appearance were irrelevant. Simply because something varied from the way it was in his reality was no reason to experience a negative reaction to it.

In the moment before his molecules scattered, he resolved to catalog the differences he found on this Enterprise with a detached, scientific interest.

Upon arrival, the first thing he was aware of was the light. The bright, reflective surfaces in the transporter room did little to assist the body’s systems with the transition. Rather than creating the sense of being safe aboard the familiar ship, the effect was cold and clinical—similar to the medical facilities he had frequented in his youth.

The only crewmembers waiting for them were the captain and his younger self. Spock’s eyes moved past his younger self quickly, as they had a tendency to do. Instead his focus was drawn to Kirk’s open smile and other abundant indicators of good health. He found them pleasant alternatives to the rest of his surroundings.

“Welcome aboard, old friend,” Kirk said, “and Lieutenant Uhura, thank you for your assistance.”

“It’s good to be back, Captain,” Uhura said.

“I expect I will find the differences between your Enterprise and my own to be of great interest, Captain Kirk,” Spock said, as much as a reminder for himself as for the sake of conversation.

“You look good,” Kirk said, and the familiar phrase, even in a voice that lacked the changes that came with age, managed to create a reaction in Spock that he was wholly unprepared for.

“Much better than yesterday,” Kirk added when Spock still had not responded.

Spock forced himself to speak before the silence became any longer. “It is an unfortunate tendency for ailments of the mind to leave no physical indicators.”

Kirk’s face fell, and Spock regretted not having chosen his words more carefully.

“Doctor McCoy is awaiting your arrival,” his younger self said to him, “but before you report to sickbay I would like to discuss a potential disturbance in the ship’s operations. In the interest of preventing unnecessary confusion—”

“As opposed to necessary confusion?” Kirk asked, and for a moment his stance and his tone were so like Jim.

There was a slight raise of his younger self’s brow. “As I have observed that humans are habitually the victim of misunderstandings or are otherwise in a similarly disoriented state, and have not yet taken the steps required to eradicate this behavior from their natures, I can only conclude that they must deem a degree of confusion _necessary_ for operations.”

“Seeing as how we are such a logical race.” When he finished speaking, Kirk pressed his lips together as if to contain some involuntary expression.

There was warmth in his younger self’s eyes. “I have, on occasion, had the experience of being pleasantly surprised.”

The warmth seemed to spread from his younger self to Kirk, and the latter’s mouth curved into a slow smile.

Uhura rolled her eyes. “Was there a point you were trying to make, Commander?”

A look suspiciously close to confusion appeared on his younger self before he regained his composure.

“Affirmative. In the interest of preventing confusion, I propose that either my older self or I make use of an alias for the duration of the time that both of us are present on the ship.”

“Logical,” Spock said, with a nod.

His younger self nodded back.

Uhura seemed indifferent and slightly impatient, her attention already shifting to her duties elsewhere.

Kirk, however, was frowning. “So which one of you would use the alias?”

His younger self glanced at Spock before he spoke. “As the crew has had a longer period of time to become accustomed to referring to me by name, it would require less adjustment for my older self to adopt an alias.”

“I have done so before. ‘Selik’ is a name that I once borrowed from a cousin and would still be suitable for such a purpose.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Kirk said. “Neither one of you needs an alias.”

His younger self’s head snapped toward Kirk. He opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by the raising of Kirk’s hand.

“There are plenty of crewmembers with the same name, and it doesn’t cause any problems. It’s not like I’m the only ‘James’ on board. You can’t tell me that Vulcans require an alias to be used every single time this happens.”

His younger self folded his hands behind his back. “Your argument would be valid if you were regularly referred to as ‘James,’ but you are not.”

“Ok, so I’m the only ‘Kirk’ on this ship. But not in Starfleet. And there’s more than one ‘Miller,’ and ‘Rodrigues,’ and ‘Kim,’ and—”

“Despite the repetition in surnames, there are differences in the manner in which those crewmembers are addressed.” His younger self ignored Kirk’s attempt to interject. “Rank being one, but not the only method of distinguishing them.”

“A valid argument.” Kirk appeared to be having difficulty repressing a grin. “But since the two of you can readily be distinguished by rank, Commander, there should be little difficulty in confusing you for an ambassador.”

His younger self stiffened, but Spock suspected that any suppressed irritation was mitigated by an appreciation for Kirk’s arguments.

“They bicker, but they make a better team than you’d think,” Uhura said, leaning close as if they were co-conspirators. “I hope you eventually got along better in your timeline.”

He would not elaborate on that.

Instead Spock said, “In this reality I do not currently hold the rank of ambassador.”

“Maybe not, but I don’t think it’s fair to strip you of your title, not after all you’ve accomplished in your life. The crew can refer to you as ‘Ambassador Spock’ for as long as you’re on board.”

Spock inclined his head in acceptance. “I am amenable to whatever solution will cause the least amount of impact.”

This time Kirk’s warmth was directed towards him. “Good.”

“I do need to get back to my post,” Uhura said. She turned to address Kirk. “If you’re done I would like to go ahead and take Ambassador Spock to sickbay.”

“I will escort him,” his younger self said. “I do not wish to further interfere with your productivity.”

Uhura smiled, stepping close to his younger self, as if to repeat the display of intimacy that had occurred in Spock’s home. But she only locked her eyes onto his, her gaze deep and intense as she left. The effect was noticeably pleasing to his younger self.

“I have a conference call to make.” Kirk ran his hand through the back of his hair, his expression tense. “When you’re done getting poked and prodded by Bones, Ambassador, I’d like you to come see me on the bridge. Let me know of any findings.”

“I will do so,” Spock said.

Kirk nodded in acknowledgement before he left. Spock watched him until he was out of sight. The indulgence was harmless. Mostly.

The concept of being alone with his younger self was, as always, unappealing. Interactions between them always had an added degree of discomfort. It was similar to seeing a work of art before the artist’s skills have been developed—the resulting creation crude and imperfect, awkward and half-made.

It was evident from his younger self’s posture that the discomfort was shared. He wondered what his observations would be. Perhaps he was like a painting that conveyed nothing the creator envisioned, the disappointment of unrealized potential.

His younger self turned toward the hall and Spock fell into step beside him. It was possible that they could accomplish what was needed with only a minimal need for communication.

After the transporter room, differences such as the black reflective floor and contrasting white walls of the hallway were not unexpected. What Spock did find interesting, however, was that the shape of the corridors were different as well. They had been stretched into an inefficient oval.

Sickbay, however, had been designed to accommodate functionality as well as aesthetics. It appeared to be well-equipped, and despite the ever present brightness, the increased openness of the room reduced the sense of confinement Spock had experienced in the one from his reality. Not that he would ever be fully at ease in any medical facility—not after being the unnatural product of two species and the incessant focus of study and “necessary monitoring” that he suspected had been little more than thinly veiled experimentation.

He watched his younger self become more withdrawn, and for a moment Spock felt the urge to reassure him, to tell him that in his future the time he would spend here would be limited. But that was not necessarily true. His younger self’s path had already been greatly altered from his own.

“Finally,” McCoy said, crossing the room to meet them. “I told Jim you were supposed to come here as soon as you beamed up.”

He led Spock to one of the biobeds, but when he noticed Spock’s younger self had followed them he paused to glower at him.

“Don’t your rules and regulations have anything in them about doctor-patient confidentiality?”

“I am familiar with all such regulations, unless something has been added about the patient no longer being allowed access to his or her own records.” His younger self raised an eyebrow. “Has that occurred, Doctor?”

It took McCoy a moment to make the connection. “Just because you’re biologically the same person, doesn’t mean you actually are. And that means you don’t get to listen in with those pointy ears of yours.”

“Doctor,” Spock said before his younger self made a statement that was likely to be counterproductive, “it is only logical that my medical information be available to my younger self so that he may make informed decisions regarding his own health in the future.”

“I was defending you, you know,” McCoy said, but there was no heat to his words. “Fine,” he pointed a finger at Spock’s younger self, “but no interruptions.”

Spock went through the motions of keeping his pulse, blood pressure, and breathing within normal parameters as McCoy performed his examination.

“Have there been any other ill effects, any new symptoms since you woke up?” McCoy asked.

“There have been no new symptoms.”

McCoy nodded. “Good. I have to say that you look a lot better today. It may be that whatever caused the unconsciousness is already working its way out of your system, and you’ll be good as new in no time.”

“My recovery is not satisfactory. While there have been no new symptoms, neither has there been any improvement in my mental condition.”

“I know that healer of yours said that your mind was unreliable.” McCoy shook his head as he began putting away his instruments. “But there is bound to be some disorientation after being unconscious for so long. And I know Jim was concerned after what happened to you, hell, we all were, but there really doesn’t appear to be anything the matter with you. In fact, if I’m reading my Vulcan conversion charts right, you’re exceptionally healthy for someone your age.”

“I am experiencing memory loss.”

His younger self stiffened beside him.

“Memory loss?” McCoy frowned. “Is it only around the time of the incident that you can’t remember, or are other events affected as well?”

“It is not limited to the incident, nor is the loss absolute. My memories are still—available. But the ones from recent decades have taken on an imprecise quality that was not present before the period of unconsciousness.”

McCoy smiled at him in a way that was entirely unfamiliar. It was almost…indulgent.

“I know the timing is suspicious,” McCoy said, “but sometimes a shock to the system like you experienced can trigger some unpleasant, but relatively normal side effects of aging. And some minor distortion of memories is common. Hell, it’s something most humans have to deal with our whole lives.

“It does not happen to Vulcans,” his younger self said, and for once Spock appreciated his bluntness. But there was something else in his voice that neither McCoy, nor any of his instruments would be able to detect. The only reason Spock was aware of it was because it was something he felt acutely himself.

It was fear. Fear that his human blood had somehow made him inferior and his mind was atrophying as a result.

“While I know it’s not something the you in our universe likes to think about it,” McCoy said, “you _are_ half human.”

“The memory loss appears to have an unusual and undesirable quality,” Spock said, but then he hesitated. The next part would be difficult to say out loud when he was still unwilling to have it confirmed in his mind.

“Upon waking,” Spock continued, “I was able to identify the earliest clear memory as having taken place in the year 2345. However, during your examination I discovered that memory was no longer clear, and that the most recent one that could be recalled with clarity was in late 2343. While there is insufficient data to know if the rate will remain stable, it can be theorized that I am losing my memories at a speed of one year every two hours.”

It also meant that, in approximately four point twenty-one days, he would begin losing his memories of Jim. Spock closed his eyes. Any external stimulus had become too great of a distraction against his fight for control.

“I didn’t say that I was giving up,” McCoy said, his voice notably softer. “But you need to be prepared for the possibility that we might not be able to find an answer. I’ll keep researching this, and when the science labs are finally able to identify the residue from that box of yours, I’ll see how that fits in as well.”

“Understood, Doctor,” Spock said, but he kept his eyes closed.

“Let’s do a few more tests,” McCoy said, “then maybe we can get someone to give you a tour of the ship, get your mind off things for a while.”

…As if being shown every detail of what was wrong with this reality would be anything but a reminder that, when the last of the memories of his were gone, this one would be the only one left.

But Spock did not say that. After a moment he opened his eyes, his control reasonably restored.

His younger self looked as if he wanted to speak, but then he stopped and nodded absently.

 

A few tests turned into several hours of scans and even the antiquated practice of blood and tissue samples.

While McCoy did not admit to it, Spock was certain that he had found something from the way his manner changed and the secretive way he guarded his data, locking himself in his office each time he reviewed a new set of results.

Before Spock was released a small implant was inserted in his arm. It was designed to monitor his vital signs and alert McCoy if there were any sudden changes.

“I need more time to review my findings,” McCoy said. “I will contact you the moment I have a clear picture of what’s going on.”

Spock did not ask him to elaborate. He thanked him and followed his younger self to the bridge.

 

The command chair was wrong. It was round where it should have had angles. It was white where it should have been red. Jim would have disapproved of it. He remembered the last time it had been changed. Jim had rocked back and forth, his arms full of his camping bag and too many water bottles, and said, “I miss my old chair.”

Spock frowned. His younger self and Kirk were discussing which crewman would be available to take him on the pointless tour, and which areas he should visit first. How simple it would be to interrupt them and explain how everything was supposed to be. How much time they would save if everything and everyone were exactly where they belonged.

But there was nothing he could do about it. Not then and not now. Change was inevitable. To be inflexible was to be illogical.

Spock closed his eyes. He seemed to have the urge to do so progressively more with each hour.

“Hey,” Uhura said, her voice pitched to be heard only by him, “let’s get you out of here.”

He looked at her in confusion. The concern on her face was unmistakable.

“We’ll go back to your room. I’ll show you the quarters you’ve been assigned, get you set up with something to eat, and then you can do your meditations.”

“I do not want to prevent you from carrying out your duties any more that I already have.”

“It won’t hurt to leave for a moment.” She smiled. “Besides, I don’t think I’ll be gone long. You have that look you get when you want to be alone.”

He hesitated, but he found himself disinclined to deny that. Finally, he nodded.

She accepted his answer wordlessly as she moved past him to make their excuses to Kirk.

Spock suppressed a frown as he watched her complete the arrangements. The one that had stolen Jim’s place should not be so kind.

“Ok,” Uhura said when she returned. “It’s all taken care of. My Spock and the captain will to work together to cover anything that happens in my absence and orders are being sent out that you are not to be disturbed.”

As she led him off the bridge and into the turbolift, his vision was drawn to her dark hair and the same bright, impractical earrings that she had worn in his reality.

“Really,” she said once the lift door closed behind them, “these little opportunities for the captain and first officer to spend time together are good for them. It strengthens the command team, and it makes them better friends.”

The strengthening of the bond between Kirk and his younger self would be an unexpected benefit for accepting her help. Perhaps he could arrange for “these little opportunities” to happen more often.

He had such inappropriate thoughts.

 

 

Art by [hereidreamtiwasanartist](http://hereidreamtiwasanartist.tumblr.com/)


	3. Very Pleasant (and Very Brief)

**Day 6**

 

It was ship morning, and Spock was lying in bed, drifting in and out of informal meditation. Alpha shift had already begun, but he made no attempt to get up. In part, it was because he had not reached a satisfactory state of mental balance, but it was mostly due to his inability to find the desire to do so.

He had been unable to think of Jim the night before. His thoughts were invariably drawn to the slow erosion of his mind. To watching events as they were blotted out, dampened, and destroyed. To calculating how long it would be before the details of Jim’s face, his body, all the minute changes throughout the years, were reduced to the vaguest of impressions.

It would be logical to take advantage of the memories while they lasted, to spend every waking second reliving each moment together before the ability was lost. But it had become impossible. It was as if a part of him had become convinced that by merely thinking of Jim he would risk spreading the malignancy to those thoughts as well. That he would somehow hasten the process and those memories would be taken next. Or perhaps his memories had become of limited use and each time he thought of Jim they would wear out a little more until they finally disintegrated.

There was no basis for his reluctance. His fears did not fit the pattern and were wholly irrational. But that did not stop him from wasting more of what little opportunity he had left.

His intercom alerted him to the presence of a visitor. His time free from disturbances had apparently passed.

“Come,” Spock said.

The doors slid open. The footsteps were heavier than Uhura’s.

“Hello, old friend,” Kirk said.

Spock sat up quickly, suddenly aware of the rumpled state of his robes. His sleep was not restless in the manner that a human’s was, but the back of his hair would still be pushed in untidy and unknown directions. He began smoothing it down before he became aware of what he was doing and froze. It had been a very long time since he had taken note of his physical presentation solely for the sake of another individual.

“Captain,” Spock said. His voice was smooth and revealed none of his inner turmoil.

“Did I wake you?” Kirk’s eyes ran over his form and Spock felt another wave of disquiet. “I can come back later. It’s just that the other you tends to rise very early—in fact he’s always waking me up and getting after me for my lax human self-discipline, so I thought—”

“No, you did not.” Spock buried the wisp of irritation he felt toward his younger self’s behavior towards Kirk.

Kirk grinned and it made his chest ache in the way humans wrongly attributed to the heart. The placement of Spock’s was such that the distinction was more obvious, but even so he knew it was merely the tensing of muscles, the preparation of nerves for a perceived threat. In this case it was the threat of loss. To experience want again after all this time, and to be reminded of what he could no longer have.

And his younger self was foolish enough not to want it.

“Well, Lieutenant Uhura said you were taking your meals in your room, and I thought I’d bring you breakfast. If you want, I can leave it here, or if you want company…”

“I would not be opposed to your company.” Spock slid from the bed and moved to sit at the desk.

“Great.” Kirk sat down across from him.

Spock noted the vegetarian assortment on the tray that was easily enough for two people. One plate was neatly tucked beneath the other as if to make it less obvious that Kirk had intended to stay.

It was thoughtful. His Jim had often been thoughtful, but he had also been more assertive in regards to his own needs. He would not have curbed his craving for meat merely to please Spock. Later, he had chosen to eat in the Vulcan tradition with some degree of frequency, but that had been after they were bonded and only at home.

Kirk divided the food between the plates, and Spock took the luxury of watching his movements. It was vital that he not indulge in sentiment, but it was interesting to note that with Kirk, it was the similarities that drew his attention rather than the differences.

“How are you feeling?” Kirk asked. Then he winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean any insult, um, how is your health?”

Spock allowed himself the faintest upturning of his lips.

“I am more accustomed to the colloquialisms present in human speech than my counterpart is. You do not need to censor yourself for my sake.”

“That’s great, because it’s difficult having to watch every word every time. You’d think someone who supposedly lacks emotion wouldn’t be so touchy—” Kirk’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean—”

Spock was unaware of his chuckle until he was alerted to it by Kirk’s look of shock.

“I didn’t know you _could_ laugh.”

“It does not happen frequently.” Spock smoothed his expression into one of neutrality. “It appears your presence has affected me in its typical manner—in bringing out the unexpected.”

“Why don’t I have this effect on younger-you?” Kirk asked.

“I suspect you will. You were capable of inciting other strong emotions in him.”  

Kirk looked down, and Spock sensed that had been the wrong thing to say.

“I apologize if I have caused you distress,” Spock said.

“You know, I think younger-you and you-you may actually be very different people. And I may not have much in common with your version of me.”

“Existence has been more difficult in your timeline, but your essences are the same.” 

“Sometimes I want that closeness my other-self had with you. It seemed—” Kirk held his hand up to his meld points.  Then he shrugged. His smile was lopsided as if to create the illusion that his words were not truly important, or perhaps not entirely meant.

Spock had the distinct urge to seek out his younger self and shake him until he understood what he was doing to his captain. He was disturbed by the violence and irrationality of the impulse.

“Maybe,” Kirk continued, “you could show me more sometime. Maybe if I understood the dynamics of your friendship, I could try to improve my own with this Spock. I think I messed things up in the beginning, and it didn’t have the chance it should have.”

Kirk’s expression made it clear that he expected to be refused.

There was no possibility that Spock could resist the opportunity to join with that mind, to feel its brilliance again.

But not yet. He had to improve his shields and his control. He had to be able to keep some elements of his relationship with Jim a secret.

“I would be willing to make such an attempt, after I have had time for sufficient rest.”

“You would?” Kirk looked embarrassed at the incredulousness in his own voice. He straightened his shoulders, and when he spoke again his voice was lower. “Later would be fine. Bones wants to see you after you finish eating anyway.”

Spock nodded, and for once the dreaded trip to sickbay did not preoccupy his thoughts.

 

#

 

After they arrived at sickbay the first thing McCoy did was to pull Kirk into his office to speak with him in private. Spock sat on the edge of a biobed while he waited for them.

When they emerged, Spock identified their grim expressions, poorly masked, as evidence that his prognosis was less than favorable. He had expected nothing less.

Once the confirmation was made that his malady was incurable, it would be better if he returned to the colony to begin making his final preparations. It was a relief in a way. His time of usefulness was long past.

“I apologize for the delay in giving you a diagnosis,” McCoy said, and his uncharacteristically humble demeanor only added to Spock’s suspicions. “But I wanted to be sure that the results I was getting were accurate.”

“There is no reason to apologize,” Spock said. “The outcome was inevitable. The loss of functionality, at my age, is to be expected.”

Kirk and McCoy exchanged a look.

“What Bones is trying to say,” Kirk made a visibly effort to appear relaxed, but like McCoy he was too obvious to be convincing, “is that your condition is—unprecedented, at least as far as we can tell.”

Spock grew still.

“I’ve double—no, triple—checked my tests and figures,” McCoy said, “and there is no doubt about it. Your mind is not degrading.”

So they were back to this.

“I assure you, Doctor,” Spock allowed his irritation to seep into his tone, “that my memory _is_ suffering from marked degradation.”

Another look was exchanged. It was especially disconcerting to watch when Kirk’s eyes were as blue as McCoy’s should have been, and Jim’s blend of green and brown had been wasted on McCoy.

“We believe that you’re losing your memories,” Kirk said. “But it’s not that your memories are degrading so much as that the events in them have no longer happened to you.”

“What Jim means is that, as hard as it may be to believe, you appear to be growing younger.”

Spock frowned at them. His eyes shifted to his hands. They had become increasingly strange to him. It seemed impossible that the loss of some small lines, of the marks in his skin that came with age, were physical changes and not just a distortion in memories.

“That is not possible,” Spock said. But now he was not sure.

“That’s what I thought too, at first,” McCoy said, “but I’ve been very thorough, and I’ve had M’Benga and Chapel go over the results. They’re accurate. You should be one-hundred fifty-eight years old, but biologically you are only one-hundred and one.”

McCoy began bringing up information on his PADD. “The rate of de-aging is occurring at approximately one year every two hours. The same rate you said you were losing your memories at.”

“As long as we can find a way to stop it before it goes too far,” Kirk said, and Spock was aware that he was watching him closely, “this could be good. A second chance at youth, a longer life—”

“It is imperative that we find a means to halt the process immediately.” Spock ignored the concerned, slightly surprised expressions at his words. “I have no desire for a longer life.”

McCoy glanced at Kirk, as if he doubted the quality of Spock’s mind after all. “We’ll do our best, but there is no way of predicting how long it will take. Most people would be grateful for the opportunity to—”

“The memories that I possess, Doctor, would be impossible to replace.”

“I understand,” Kirk said. He held up a hand to prevent McCoy from interjecting. “We will continue to look for a cure as quickly as possible. Commander Spock has contacted Starfleet to see if he can discover the location of the missing letter, the one you said Perrin gave you with incense. We are checking every possible lead, no matter how small.”

“I appreciate the efforts of you and your crew.” Spock stood up. “I find I am in need of rest.”

McCoy nodded. “The moment I learn anything useful you’ll be the first to know.”

Spock stepped into the hallway. There were now three point one six seven days remaining until he not only started to forget Jim, but before his time with him had never happened.

Uhura was approaching. He averted his eyes, intent on walking past without acknowledging her.

She raised her hand, her fingers parting in salute. “Dif-tor heh smusma.”

And for the first time it sounded like a curse.

 

 

**Day 7**

 

 

“I have a theory,” Spock said to McCoy as he was subjected to yet another scan in sickbay, “about the mechanism behind my condition.”

“What is it?” Kirk sat up straighter on the biobed next to his, the tricorder in his hand forgotten.

McCoy gave Kirk a strange expression, somewhere in between puzzled and suspicious. Then he turned his focus back to his patient.

“I’m open to anything at this point,” McCoy said. “So let’s hear it.”

“In my reality I was once subjected to a rapid aging process.”

McCoy’s mouth opened and closed again before he spoke. “And it just occurred to you to mention that _now_?”

“The circumstances were vastly different and impossible to recreate in this reality at this time, and thus I did not consider the information relevant.”

“Ok, ok.” McCoy made an impatient motion with the hand holding the scanner. “So you changed your mind. What’s relevant about it now?”

“Possibly nothing.” Spock paused and there was a certain satisfaction to the familiar tensing of McCoy’s jaw and slight bulging of his eyes.

“But you have a theory, right?” Kirk said before McCoy could speak. “Tell us what it is.”

“Perhaps the compound I inhaled was not intended to cause a reversal of the aging process. Perhaps it was designed merely to incapacitate me to prevent my efforts in Romulan space, but because of the changes my biology had previously undergone, it acted as a catalyst, causing an unintended effect.”

“So what you’re saying,” McCoy said, “is that whatever was done to reverse your rapid aging may have become active again, and—”

“The aging was never reversed.” Spock held up his hand to halt any interruptions. “I do not wish to speak of the events that made the rapid aging an acceptable occurrence in my reality, but I wish to inform you that the person who would be the expert on this matter is currently onboard this vessel.”

“Who is it?” Kirk asked. He shifted closer to the intercom, hand posed to summon the individual the moment he or she was named.

“The molecular biologist, Doctor Carol Marcus.”

Kirk’s hand dropped away from the intercom. “Doctor Marcus?”

“Yes. I believe you are acquainted with her, after the unfortunate actions of her father, Admiral Marcus.”

Kirk frowned. “But she’s already working with us in the science labs.”

“I realize that the discoveries she will be known for have yet to happen, but if I am able to relate to her the nature of my previous experience, she may be of great benefit.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Spock,” McCoy said, “but Doctor Marcus is not a molecular biologist. She specializes in advanced weaponry.”

Spock was momentarily silenced.

“Maybe because after Nero’s attack—the first one,” Kirk said, his voice soft, “it made a lot of people paranoid, including her father. So maybe she was encouraged in another direction when she was growing up, or maybe she developed different interests because of that.”

Spock closed his eyes. Of course the hope for a solution had been prevented by his actions.

“We can still talk to her,” McCoy said, and his voice had taken on the same consoling inflection that Kirk used.

Kirk nodded. “And we have two other molecular biologists researching your condition. If you provide them with the new information, maybe they can get somewhere with this.” He began to reach toward Spock as if he intended to lay a reassuring hand on his arm.

Spock stood before that could happen. Their sympathy was unnecessary.

“It would be more efficient in that instance,” Spock said, “if I were to accompany you to the science labs.”

“I’ll take you there now.” Kirk retracted his hand, rubbing the back of his neck as if embarrassed. Then he turned to McCoy. “That is, if he’s cleared to go?”

McCoy nodded. “I hope they have better luck than I’m having.”

As did Spock. But he refrained from saying anything as he followed Kirk into the hallway.

Other than an unanticipated effect from Carol Marcus’ experiments, only alien species not yet encountered in this timeline seemed capable of creating or curing his condition. With enough modification Borg nanoprobes might be able to, or the Q Continuum, or possibly technological advances that had been accidentally incorporated into his reality from the future. But none of that would be able to help him now.

  

 

**Day 8**

 

 

Spock stood alone on the observation deck, his hands folded behind his back as he stared at the dark expanse with its bright specks of light. Thirty-seven hours had passed since he had shared the new information with the science labs and McCoy, but no progress had been made. It was not due to a lack of diligence from the crew of the Enterprise. They had put out far more effort than he had expected of them.

He had, by his best approximation, seventeen point two hours before he began losing his memories of Jim.

While he did not often attribute his younger self with making wise decisions, he did concede that there were advantages in choosing Lieutenant Uhura over Captain Kirk. Without the intensity of the t’hy’la bond, there was freedom to gain a greater mastery of emotions, while still indulging in the support and companionship that a mate provided. She was smart, efficient, and aesthetically pleasing. Had he chosen to have such a loyal yet undemanding recipient of his affections, he would not be in the predicament that he was in now.

He recognized the footsteps approaching, but he did not turn around.

“I don’t think I can call you ‘old friend’ anymore,” Kirk said. There was no merriment in his tone. He came to stand beside Spock, his face turned toward the stars.

“As I am physiologically seventy point five years old, that definition is not inaccurate.”

“That’s not old by Vulcan standards.”

“Vulcan standards are not universal.”

Kirk made a small sound that was not quite a laugh. “Tell that to younger-you.” Kirk’s head jerked upward in Spock’s peripheral vision. “Damn. I keep meaning to stop saying things like that.”

“You may say whatever you wish.”

Kirk shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t like him. I do. He’s the best first officer I could ask for, and he’s a friend too.” He paused. “In his own way.”

“It is possible that you underestimate his regard for you.”

There was a long silence.

Kirk never had been one to remain subdued, and despite the gravity of the moment Spock experienced the urge to facilitate his return to a more regular state.

“We were older, your counterpart and I,” Spock said, forcing his posture to relax, “when we served together. The eleven years I spent on the Enterprise prior to that were with Captain Pike.”

“I guess other-me moved up the ranks in the traditional manner then.” Kirk exhaled slowly. “There probably wasn’t a hearing for my academic conduct either.”

“No, not a hearing.” Spock turned his head marginally toward Kirk. “You were given a commendation for your solution in the Kobayashi Maru scenario.”

Kirk turned to face him. “I actually solved it? But I thought it was unbeatable.”

“You solved it in the same manner that you did here.”

Kirk frowned. “And I wasn’t caught?”

“Starfleet was impressed with your ‘original thinking.’”

“Of course they were.” Kirk folded his arms over his chest. “So what about us? Did we get along better?”

This time it was harder to sound unaffected. “We did.”

“So I take it you never marooned my counterpart on Delta Vega then.”

“I did not.” There was no need to answer further. He did anyway. “I did, however, take unauthorized control of the Enterprise while I left him stranded on Starbase Eleven.”

“Seriously?” Kirk waited, as if he expected Spock to reveal that what he had said was a joke. When Spock remained silent, he added, “You _stole_ the Enterprise?”

“Affirmative.”

Kirk shook his head. “So what did other me do to piss you off _that_ badly?”

“On the contrary, it was my great esteem for him that inspired my actions. I was condemning myself through my loyalty to Captain Pike, and I was unwilling to let my captain sacrifice his life as well.”

“Sacrifice his—you mean that figuratively? Starfleet doesn’t use capital punishment.”

“This was an exception.”

Kirk looked skeptical, but willing to accept the explanation for now. “So what happened? You don’t appear to have been executed.”

“He caught me. I had expected he would, despite the many precautions I had made. He was—resourceful. But I engineered enough of a distraction to occupy him until Captain Pike could reach safety. I—” Spock felt the tightness in his chest return. “I manipulated his emotions, his—affection for me. I created a false court martial for my crimes, and left him with the task of finding me guilty. After he did so, it was revealed to have been staged. I had underestimated the depth of his emotions. And my own. My actions were unforgiveable.”

Kirk made a small, whistling sound. “I’ll take Delta Vega.” There was a pause, and he placed a hand on Spock’s forearm. “Did other-me forgive you?”

“Sooner than I deserved.” He could feel the heat of Kirk’s fingers even through the thickness of his robe. If he concentrated he would be able to feel his emotions. But he refrained.

“It’s strange hearing about another me. Another me that succeeds without fucking things up.”

“Before achieving success, humans have a tendency to make a series of mistakes. Errors are essential to the learning process.”

Kirk made a sound in between a chuckle and a snort. “I wish there was a way to convince younger-you of that. Maybe if you explained it him—he’d never believe it coming from me.”

“He is unlikely to question your integrity.”

Kirk still had not removed his hand.

“The reason you think he cares about me,” Kirk said slowly, as if each word was carefully chosen, “is because of how much you cared about other-me.”

It was not a question, and thus there was no reason to answer it.

But after a moment Kirk nodded, as if he had received one anyway. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I am not alone.” Spock looked past Kirk and not into eyes that would never match his expectations. “What the crew has done for me has already been remarkable.”

“I don’t mean that.” Kirk looked down at where they touched. Instead of withdrawing his hand as Spock expected, he turned Spock toward him and placed the other one in a parallel position.

Spock looked down at the long, tapered fingers. They were structurally familiar, even if the blemishes were not. He was uncertain if that was still important.

“You don’t have to lose…” Kirk took a breath. “If you want a place on this ship, I can arrange it. I can get you whatever you need.”

“Your offer is appreciated. But until we know if my condition can be stopped, it would not be wise to provide me with a duty I may not be able to perform.”

“We’ll find a cure.”

Spock nodded even though he did not agree. The gesture was for Kirk and not himself.

“Ok,” Kirk dropped his gaze. “But there was something else I came to talk to you about. What if there was some way to preserve your memories, to buy us time. Maybe through a mind meld we could—”

“I have considered this, and I will not allow my younger-self to access my memories. There is too great a risk to our identities and his future.”

“He said the same thing when I asked him.” Kirk did not appear any less determined. “But it doesn’t have to be younger-you who performs it. I checked, and there is a Vulcan stationed on a nearby starbase. Think of it as a temporary measure, just to save the most important memories while we find a permanent solution.”

Spock shook his head. “No Vulcan would be willing to perform such a meld.”

“Why not?”

“The memories I want to keep, and my reason for doing so, would be viewed as illogical, and the strength of my desire to do so would be seen as a defect.”

“But we can at least try—”

“When a bondmate is lost,” Spock said, and now it was his words that were measured, “it is customary to remove the remaining tie as well as the strong emotions from the surviving partner. It allows them to create a new bond and is a matter of health and safety.”

Kirk’s eyes appeared to understand too much. “Go on.”

“My bondmate went missing. He was lost for over seventy-eight years. But as he was not dead, I retained hope of his eventual recovery. I did not choose to sever the bond.”

“You waited for seventy-eight years after he—” Kirk seemed to stumble over the pronoun. “He was very lucky to have someone that loyal.”

“That belief was not shared by many. And because of my choice, a number of adaptive behaviors had to be taken.”

“And after that time you were reunited?”

Spock shook his head. “We were still separated when he—when he died. His sacrifice saved the lives of many others.”

Kirk squeezed Spock’s arms. “I’m sorry.”

“I have been able to manage the absence and eventual severance of the bond for ninety-five point one years, and my memories have been of great assistance in that endeavor. I have no desire to go through the process of having those memories stripped from me by a healer any more than I want them to fade due my condition.”

“Maybe if we explained to them—”

“It would be ineffective. Vulcans are not known for flexibility in these matters.”

“Ah.” Kirk looked down at where they were still touching and seemed to draw determination from the sight. “I understand if you can’t tell me, but I’d like to ask you something.”

“You may.”

“Who was your bondmate?” 

He should not answer. “Many things were different in my reality.”

Kirk only nodded. And waited.

“It does not represent the way things are in yours.”

“I understand.”

Spock opened his mouth and then closed it again. He realized that it was no longer a question of whether or not he should answer, but whether or not he could.

“Come on, Spock, who was he?”

“He was…”

“It was my counterpart, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Kirk seemed to slump, and for a moment Spock thought it was in distress.

“I’d suspected.” Kirk tilted his head up and gave him a small smile that was familiar enough to make Spock’s heart clench. “I’d hoped.”

Spock was silent for several seconds. “Because you are interested in forming such a bond with my younger self?”

“Maybe at one time. At least, I thought about it. But the feelings have never been reciprocated.”

“That is not—”

“No, he has more in common with Uhura. I think we might’ve, but the loss of Vulcan made him adhere to everything about his lost planet. He’s more Vulcan, more rigid, and less amicable toward humans like me.”

Another repercussion of Spock’s introduction into this timeline, another thing he was responsible for.

“Perhaps the loss has made him need you more than you expect,” Spock said.

“He knows my feelings. I’ve let them slip more than once, and he’s smart enough to put it together. He chooses not to reciprocate.”

“I always did have a tendency to make the wrong choices.” Spock’s tone was wry, but the words were accurate, and he was uncertain if, even after so many years, his judgment in making decisions had ever improved.

“So do I.” Kirk gave him a grin, the one that only turned up on one side. “And I’ve always felt displaced. As if I’m in the wrong universe.”

“Your presence is important.”

“You’re the only one that has ever made me feel that way.” Kirk took a deep breath. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“You said that before.”

“You never answered.”

“If that was a question, the parameters were not well defined.” Spock looked away, not wanting to see Kirk’s response to his evasion.

“I can’t stop the loss of your memories. But I can be here for you.”

“I am forty-six years older than you now, and there is no way to be certain what the age difference will be when, and if, my condition is halted.” Spock looked back toward him.

“It doesn’t matter to me. Even if you were the same as when we met—it doesn’t matter.” Kirk gave him a pained smile. “I can’t explain it, but it’s you.”

He had made so many mistakes. So many of his decisions had ended in catastrophic failure, and it was likely that he would do the wrong thing now.

He did not know what he would do.

But he knew what he wanted.

 


	4. Make Them Take the Next Step

**Day 9**

 

 

Starfleet mattresses had always been narrow. And while Spock’s current bed had the advantage of being eight point three percent wider than the one in his reality, the difference was relatively marginal when the body of an additional adult male was added to the sleeping surface.

The previous night had been the result of Kirk’s insistence that “friends don’t leave friends alone” in times of loss and Spock’s own inability—or lack of inclination—to create an adequate refusal. But despite allowing the exceptionally close proximity of sharing a bed, Spock had been unwilling to initiate contact beyond that of companionship—not when his self-control was tenuous at best and his future still undecided. Kirk’s disappointment had been unvoiced and detected only through his touch.

But, in spite of Kirk’s intentions, the night had been one of limited comfort. Kirk was not Jim, and Spock had found himself cataloging the minor variances between them. The mostly familiar body had only served as a reminder that soon he would no longer be able to tell the difference.

“Good morning,” Kirk said with warmth in his voice. His tone matched the heat and desire emanating from the place where Spock’s arm was resting on his waist.

The _amount_ of emotional transference, however, was much greater than should have been possible.

The implication of that should have occurred to him sooner.

It was vital that Spock take action to reestablish boundaries. There were _reasons_ for his decision to limit intimacy.

“Computer, lights, sixty percent,” Spock said, only to realize that he had made a significant tactical error. Being able to see more of Kirk, a condition that was only increased by Kirk’s choice to sleep, respectfully, on top of the covers, did nothing to encourage rational thought.

“Ack, Spock,” Kirk said, pressing a hand over his eyes, “warn me before you do that.”

“You have removed your clothes.”

“Oh, right. It got too hot.” He peered out from under his fingers and gave Spock a sheepish grin. “I didn’t want to sweat all over you.”

Human sweat was fascinating. He remembered its warmth—its saline taste. It was all Spock could do not to pin him to the mattress and lick it from his skin.

He needed distance. He sat up, and was grateful for the loose and concealing nature of his robes.

“Don’t worry,” Kirk said, his voice distorting as he leaned over the side of the bed to locate his uniform, “if anything, last night gave me an even greater incentive to find a cure. Not that I didn’t have a good enough one already.”

“Indeed.”

Kirk pulled his shirt over his head, and glanced at the computer. “Damn. I don’t have enough time to shower if I want to catch younger-you before alpha shift starts.”

The apprehension Spock felt at this announcement was not easy to define. He also suspected that it, like so many things, was not entirely rational.

“I have a plan for today and I’m going to need his cooperation.” Kirk pulled on his pants and boots with smooth efficiency. It was pleasing to watch. Spock regretted that he had not witnessed the unveiling.

_An unnecessary thought._

“I will endeavor,” Spock said, dragging his mind back to the conversation, “not to interrupt your plans.”

“Seeing as how you’re a part of my plans, that’s pretty much impossible.” Kirk combed his fingers through his hair. The result was far from immaculate, but not displeasing. “Let’s go to the mess hall. I suspect Uhura will want to check up on you, and that’ll give me time to get business out of the way. I’ll rejoin you as soon as I can.”

“I do not wish to disturb your functions as—”

“This is important,” Kirk’s said, his voice deep as his eyes locked onto Spock’s. “Trust me.” He ran his hands down Spock’s shoulders, giving his arms a gentle squeeze before letting go.

Spock found he lacked a coherent, verbal response. The only acceptable alternative in such a predicament—was to nod.

 

#

 

The shift in Kirk’s posture was slight, but it was enough to alert Spock to the arrival of his younger self even before he heard the familiar tread on the mess hall floor.

“Captain, you are aware that physical reassurance is unnecessary for Vulcans,” his younger self said. His eyes were focused on where Kirk’s hand rested on Spock’s arm.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Commander,” Kirk said, but he did not withdraw his touch.

“Captain, I…” His younger self paused as he took in Kirk’s unkempt appearance. “We do not require tactile aid during unpleasant events.”

Kirk frowned. “I believe you said that.”

For a moment the only part of his younger self that moved was his eyes as they carefully scanned the scene in front of him.

Spock understood the tendency to disapprove of the increase in familiarity between himself and Kirk. It was one that he was inclined to share.

Disapproval, however, was an emotion. One that was particularly easy to suppress.

“We are due to begin our shift in point six seven hours,” his younger self said. The reminder hung in the air, as awkward as it was unnecessary.

“I’m glad you brought that up,” Kirk said. “You have the conn today. It should be uneventful, but contact me if anything arises.”

A myriad of emotions flashed through his younger self’s eyes. The most predominant of which was a combination of curiosity and disquiet.

“Are you—unwell?”

“I’m fine,” Kirk said. His fingers tapped lightly against the fabric of Spock’s sleeve. “I just have some important things to attend to that’ll keep me away from the bridge.”

“If your intention is to assist with my older self’s condition, be assured that as the chief science officer, I am working diligently to find a solution to his malady.”

“I have no doubt of that. But in the mean time I’ve come up with another way to help.” Kirk’s eyes flicked over Spock. “At least I hope it’ll be helpful.”

His younger self’s distress became obvious enough that even Kirk was able to detect it.

A deep crease formed in Kirk’s brow. “Are _you_ unwell?”

“I am…” His younger self’s expression turned introspective before his attention returned to the conversation. “I am unable to see why you should not be able to accomplish these matters after shift.”

Kirk’s expression darkened, but before he could speak, Uhura stopped beside their table.

“Good morning, Captain,” she said, nodding to each in turn, “Ambassador, Commander.”

His younger self nodded at her, but his eyes never left Kirk.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Kirk said as he got to his feet. “Here, you can have my seat. I need to take care of some paperwork.”

“Good morning, Lieuten—” Spock was cut off by the raise of her eyebrow. “Nyota.”

She smiled, but it faded quickly. “How are you? Is there anything you need, anything I can assist you with to make today easier?” She sat down at the table.

Spock was uncomfortable being the object of so much sympathy, regardless of how well-meaning her intentions were. He regretted having told her of what was to occur today.

His younger self turned to look at Uhura. “What is the significance of today?”

Confusion and then concern crossed her features, and Kirk hesitated in his attempt to leave. Spock was surprised by the loyalty his younger self had already managed to inspire in his crewmates. That they would worry about the impact of learning about a loss, even in another timeline, would have on him was astonishing.

“The lieutenant and the captain,” Spock said, “are concerned that I will have a negative reaction to the specific memories I will lose today. But their worry is unnecessary as I will be able to cope through meditation.”

“You are sixty-six point seven years old,” his younger self said. “What memories in the years immediately prior to that would be of great enough importance to justify sharing them with anyone in this timeline?”

Spock’s shoulders tensed. “I did not inform them of the details, only that I suffered the loss of my bondmate during those years. It is not unreasonable to predict that losing my memories of him will not be a pleasant experience.”

“I did not—” His younger self stopped, and when he spoke again his voice was notably softer. “I apologize.”

“Him?” Uhura asked.

Regret was illogical. Spock experienced it regardless.

“Many things were different in my reality,” Spock said to Uhura. “That does not decrease the validity of what occurs in yours.”

“You bonded with a male. Did you—did you bond more than once? I know Vulcan lifespans are long, and…” Uhura kept her eyes focused on him.

“I bonded only once.” The statement, while factual, felt oddly inadequate. “I did not seek companionship with humans as early as my counterpart did. I did not find a bondmate until I was into my fourth decade.”

“Human?” his younger self asked. His eyes shifted to Kirk, who was the only one who was unsurprised by the news.

Uhura took in the look of contemplation in his younger self’s eyes and frowned.

“I have a plan to help lessen the loss of today,” Kirk said, sparing Spock further inquiry. “But it has to be done as soon as possible, so I need to go make preparations, but then I’ll be back.”

“Captain,” his younger self said, “I will assist you with this process in whatever way I am able to.”

“Ok, thank you, Commander.” Kirk seemed pleased by his sudden willingness to cooperate. He patted Spock’s shoulder.

Spock nodded in acknowledgement as Kirk left with his younger self.

Uhura looked down at her tray, but she made no move to eat.

“I did not mean to cause you distress,” Spock said. “You have done much to make recent events more bearable for me.”

“Were we at least close in your reality?”

“We worked together for many years. I had great admiration for your abilities and your loyalty to the Enterprise.”

Her laugh was bittersweet. “But we never had a relationship, did we? Not a romantic one.”

“We did not.”

“I know I’m not supposed to ask, at least I think I’m not, but who was it?”

“The differences are too great in the timeline to make a repeat of such a union likely.”

“It was the captain, wasn’t it?” She seemed to receive confirmation simply from looking at him, in spite of his efforts to conceal it. She closed her eyes. “It’s alright. You’ve only confirmed what I’ve suspected for a long time.”

“I do not believe my younger self has been, or is likely to be unfaithful—” 

“No, of course not.” She smiled, but it was false. “I need to get to the bridge, but if there is anything I can do to help, please let me know. I’ll do what I can.”

Spock watched her leave. It was illogical to have an emotional reaction to events that occurred in any reality other than one’s own.

After she left, Spock found that he had also lost all interest in eating. When Kirk returned his plate was still untouched.

“It’s not happening yet, is it?” Kirk asked. “I tried to hurry, but—”

“It will not begin for another seven hours.”

“Good.” Kirk resumed sitting across from him.

“I believe, though it was not my intention to do so, that I have caused Lieutenant Uhura distress.”

“She’ll be fine.”

“And my younger self—”

“Don’t worry. You just gave them an opportunity to have great makeup sex.”

Something must have shown in Spock’s expression, for Kirk laughed.

“I know,” Kirk said, and he scrunched his face into an exaggerated display of distaste. “I don’t like thinking about that either.”

A change of subject seemed appropriate. “I appreciate your efforts, but I do not wish to hinder your duties as captain.”

“It’s fine. Today’s the only chance I have to try this, and it’s scheduled to be an uneventful day of travel anyway.” He pointed at Spock. “But don’t think that just because you’re cute you can get me to neglect my duties anytime you want.”

“‘Cute’ is not a relevant descriptive term.” Spock felt an increase in blood flow to his face and ears. He had not been spoken to in that manner in almost a century, and while it did not erase his guilt, it was distracting.

“It’s subjective term, and as such, you can’t argue with me. I think you’re cute.”

“Humans frequently argue with the opinions of others.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I am sixty-six point five years old.”

“You were hot when you were one hundred and fifty-eight.”

“I find that unlikely.”

Kirk grinned. “Come on, Spock. Let’s go see what I’ve got for you.”

 

#

 

“You intend for me to discuss my memories with you,” Spock said, looking at the program running on his computer, “so that you may record them.”

“Not discussing, telling. Like a story. We can start with the best, latest memories and work backwards. We won’t be able to save everything, but it will be a way to make sure that everything isn’t lost.”

“This will not be an effective method of preserving memories. There will be no way to convey the details that are acquired through experience.”

“You’re thinking about this as a Vulcan. See, most of us humans have poor, unreliable memories, so that’s why we invented things like recording devices. It’s our way of trying to preserve what’s important to us.”

“While I am not convinced that this will be as effective as you suggest, I also do not wish to have a further impact on your timeline by giving you information that you would not otherwise have.”

“Just leave the identifying stuff out, use abbreviations for important names, don’t tell exact locations and dates.”

“You want me to make the recording even less precise.”

“Just give it a chance.” Kirk leaned toward him. “We’ve been exhausting ourselves for days trying to stop this, and hopefully we still will, but let’s just take a moment to try this. And later, when you need it, you’ll have this to replay, to jog your memories. That’s why humans keep mementos. It helps, trust me.”

Spock hesitated.

“But if you need privacy,” Kirk said, “I can go.”

“No. If I am to try this, I would prefer that you remain.”

“Alright.” Kirk smiled, and settled into his chair. “Then tell me the story of other-me. Tell me how you met, tell me of the adventures you had together, tell me everything.”

And so he did.

 

 

**Day 10**

 

 

When Spock awoke he was fifty-five point four years old. He had not expected to sleep at all. If not for his condition and its apparent draining of his energy, he would have continued to cling to each memory as it slipped from his grasp, to watch as Jim faded further and further from him.

He had thought that he had become somewhat more accustomed to the imprecise memories, but that only seemed to apply to the less important ones. The experience of having the most valuable decades of his life condensed into strips of meaningless impressions and the mere shadows of sensations was not something he would ever adapt to.

Kirk had stayed with him, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to his dedication.

After they were both awake, Spock allowed Kirk to persuade him to visit the science labs, despite his growing belief that it was already too late.

“Due to the limited progress that has been made,” his younger self said as they entered the lab, “I have spent the duration of gamma shift working on identifying the remaining compound in the residue, as well as broadening my search for the missing correspondence. But I regret to inform you that I have not made any significant progress.”

“Your division has had _days_ to find something,” Kirk said, but then his eyes seemed to register the signs of fatigue in the other’s appearance, “I appreciate your help, Commander.”

His younger self visibly tensed. “I submitted a report for your review, Captain.”

“You submit reports every day.” Kirk paused. “Does this one require immediate attention?”

“That will not be necessary.” His younger self clasped his hands behind his back. “It is merely an update in my personal file.”

Kirk’s eyebrows rose while Spock experienced a plummeting sensation.

“What change?” Kirk asked.

“Lieutenant Uhura and I have terminated our personal relationship. This development, however, will not affect our professionalism or our work performance.”

The anger that engulfed Spock was as unexpected as it was potent. He felt his fists clench in what was an appalling lack of control.

While he endured the knowledge that, with every moment that passed, more of Jim disappeared, his younger self had been unable to even maintain what had been an ideal human relationship—one that did not hold the threat of a severed bond and its never abating grief.  

“Oh god, Spock, I’m sorry.” Kirk stepped toward him. “What happened?”

There was a crack in his younger self’s composure, as if his mask had slipped in response to the offered sympathy, and his pain was being pulled out around the edges. But despite how irresistible he found Kirk’s concern to be, his weakness was only on display for a moment before his standard demeanor was resumed.

“It would not be ethical to discuss the specifics beyond what is necessary for work performance,” his younger self said.

“Of course, I understand.” Kirk still looked like he wanted to offer support, but he only nodded. “Sometimes people change their minds. I can delay filing the report until you’re sure.”

“Thank you, Captain, but the lieutenant has made her feelings clear and I have no wish to contradict them.”

“Do you want me to talk to her?”

“Unnecessary, however, your consideration is appreciated.”

“Alright.” Kirk hesitated. “I’m going to take the ambassador to sickbay. Let me know if you have any success in here.”

“Acknowledged, Captain.” As soon as Kirk turned to leave, Spock watched as his younger self seemed to fold in on himself.

Spock recognized the beginning of a familiar cycle that would end in intense meditation. It was the one that occurred whenever an emotion was too strong to be readily suppressed. He would then become distressed over his inability to regain control, which would then lead to even greater emotional unrest. At times intense meditation had been able to rectify the behavior, but more often than not it had resulted in an inclination to repeat whatever action had caused the initial problem.

Spock felt some of his anger begin to dissipate. It was not solely his younger self’s fault for what had happened with Uhura. Clearly Spock’s revelation about his bondmate had contributed as well.

“In addition to meditation,” Spock offered. “I have found poetry and music can help to restore a sense of tranquility.”

His younger self looked at him with a lack of comprehension.

Spock realized he was unlikely to have further success without a significant expenditure of time.

“I wish you a good day, Commander,” he said as he moved to leave.

There was hesitation, and Spock did not think he would respond.

“I return your regard for a pleasant series of events on this day.” His younger self nodded to him.

He returned the nod, and rejoined Kirk in the hallway.

It took Kirk’s eyes a moment to focus on him. When they did he reached a hand toward Spock, only to hesitate.

Spock slid his hand closer, just a fraction, but it was enough to encourage Kirk to take it into his own. Kirk’s despair and frustration at his inability to help those he cared for bled out into his touch.

“I will speak to Lieutenant Uhura when time permits,” Spock offered.

“That’s not exactly our top priority.” Kirk shook his head, but he paused to give Spock a half smile.

“I will not allow the discussion to impede more urgent matters. But there is always benefit in seeking to rectify a misunderstanding.”

“I’m glad you’re here to look out for younger-you.” Kirk paused to give Spock a half smile, and Spock could feel affection intertwined with Kirk’s other emotions. “If anyone deserves a second chance, it’s you. Both of you.”

Spock quelled any sense of disquiet he experienced in response to those words. His younger self’s best interests were foremost in his mind. He had already lost too much in this reality, and he did not need to know the pain of losing Jim. Spock would help him regain his relationship with Uhura.

If that failed…there was always the Kolinahr.

 

#

 

“I expected to hear from you,” Uhura said, stepping aside so Spock could enter her quarters, “come in.”

“I was advised that you had taken the day off.”

“I exchanged shifts. I thought it was a good idea to have a day apart from my Spo—from your younger self.”

Although Spock had rehearsed what he would say before he had arrived, he found himself hesitating. He had never been adept at discussing human feelings, or at least not at discussing them _with_ humans. Sometimes, however, if he simply remained quiet they would speak to him regardless.

Uhura nodded, although at what he did not know. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Her directness was appreciated, if unexpected.

“The timing suggests that,” Spock said, “even if my words were not the cause, they still functioned as a catalyst.”

“Maybe a little. But it still wasn’t your fault.” She took a breath. “It was a good thing. I think we’ll be able to remain friends at this point.”

“Were you—unsatisfied with him?”

“I wasn’t unsatisfied.” She shook her head. “But it’s not just about me.”

He frowned. He did not attempt to hide it. “Clearly he found satisfaction in your company or he would not have consented to the relationship.”

“You don’t understand. Spock was a good friend, a very good friend. He was someone that would listen to the most detailed descriptions of languages, every nuance of dialect and tone. And there was so much to learn about his—about your culture. He had so many interesting things to tell me, so much to share. And he was always respectful of me, of my mind, and not distracted by my appearance the way so many other cadets were. He gave me the space I needed to pursue what I wanted, and he kept everyone else away.”

“I see no reason why he would not have also considered this to be an ideal arrangement. You are clearly, highly intelligent, skilled with your duties, and of a pleasing disposition.”

“But that’s not all he wants. I saw the way he looks at the captain, the way _you_ look at him like there’s no one else in existence. But I’m not ready for someone to look at me that way. I’m with him because I _don’t_ want that, but apparently he does. And I’m holding him back from finding it.”

“After having experienced its loss, I am confident in stating that it has its disadvantages.”

“But it’s worth it, isn’t it?” She raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Or else you wouldn’t be doing it again.”

“It is—desirable,” he admitted. “Having experienced it previously, it is difficult to resist its pull. He, however, has the option of a less disorderly life.”

“He doesn’t need me for that. He can have that alone.” She stepped closer. “But what you found with the captain is something he _can_ have as well. There are many people he has yet to meet. Because if this is what he needs, what he wants, then I have to trust that he’ll find it.”

“I do not consider that likely.”

For a time neither of them spoke.

Finally she dropped her gaze, and when she again returned it to his face something had shifted in her expression.

“What was I like in your universe?” she asked.

“Much the same as you are now.” He paused. “Except, you used to sing.”

“Sing?” Her brow wrinkled in confusion.

“In the rec room, and at times, on the bridge. I found it—”

“Unconventional?”

“At first. But I now believe that it was not without its benefits.”

She chuckled and shook her head.

“You find the idea amusing?”

“Not at all.” She was still grinning. “I’ve always loved to sing.”

 

#

 

When Spock returned to the science labs, Kirk and Marcus were the only ones present.

Kirk gestured for Spock to follow him into the office.

“Younger-you just left.” The skin beneath Kirk’s eyes was darker than it had been before. “He’s getting some new information he wants you to look at.”

“I will assist him when he returns,” Spock said.

“He’s been working just about non-stop.” Kirk leaned back against the desk. “I’m grateful for his dedication, especially considering what we’re up against, but today it’s as if his whole personality has just shut down.”

“You may be assured that my younger self is capable of functioning without being overruled by his emotions,” Spock said, his voice soft.

“I think this break-up’s hit him hard. It would have been nice if she’d waited until after—”

“The lieutenant’s motivations were not self-serving.”

Kirk’s expression was difficult to interpret. “You talked to her?”

“Affirmative.” Spock hesitated. “The lieutenant does not wish to resume an intimate relationship.”

“I see.” Kirk glanced down to where his hand rested on the desk. “It was good that you tried.”

Kirk was silent. When he looked up at Spock, his blue eyes were limitless and strange.

“It’s just hard to see him hurting,” Kirk said, “and I don’t seem to be able to do much to help either one of you.”

“Captain, it is not—”

“No, you don’t understand.” Kirk pushed himself away from the desk. “There’s nothing I can do to stop what’s happening to you. I can’t even figure out what’s wrong.”

Spock was uncertain how to respond. Kirk continued before he had the chance.

“But it’s more than that.” Kirk raked his hand through his hair. “There are all these subtle differences between you two. It’s like seeing so many aspects of what makes you who you are, only in two people, and I’m drawn to them in a way that—damn it, I’m not making any sense.”

Spock moved toward him, and he found himself pulled into Kirk’s arms.

Spock’s body remembered the touch. Even if it was not the same, for now, it was enough.

“Love is not finite,” Spock said. “It expands, exponentially, when there is a need for it.”

“Only you would think that way.” Kirk’s breath was warm on Spock’s neck.

The worthiness of his younger self was irrelevant, as was whether Spock had done the right things then or now. What was important was what would bring Kirk the most contentment. 

“He loves you,” Spock said.

“What?” Kirk pulled back to look at him, his forehead creased. “Did Uhura tell you that?”

“She did not. However,” Spock’s chest clenched, but he had anticipated that reaction. It was not a reason to stop. “I remember how I behaved when I first loved your counterpart. His behavior is the same.”

Kirk shook his head. “It’s not the most direct way to express it.”

“It is not.”

“So what about you?” Kirk said.

“I am not the better choice.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

It was difficult to maintain eye contact. “My future is uncertain. I have already lived longer than I had any reason to expect, far longer than those I served beside.”

“We’ll fix that. You _will_ have a future.”

“Then I shall spend it making things better in this reality.” Spock altered his tone into something resembling humor, despite how much it went against his inclinations. “There is, after all, much to be done.”

Kirk shook his head, and when he spoke any amusement in his words was faint. “You say that like this place is so much worse than yours.”

“That was not my intent.” Spock allowed his forehead to rest against Kirk’s.

Kirk tightened the embrace. Then he released his grip and stepped away. It was a distinct loss.

“This isn’t the time to be thinking about this.” There was an increase in the intensity of the light reflection in Kirk’s eyes, but he moved with intentional brusqueness, as if it had not. “Our focus needs to be on how to stop you from de-aging.”

Spock hesitated. “Acknowledged.”

“How old are you now?”

“Fifty point four years.”

“Alright, let’s go find younger-you and see what new data he’s found.” Kirk moved toward the door.

“We may need to prepare for the possibility that this will not be stopped.”

Kirk’s shoulders stiffened. “I’m not giving up.”

“I do not wish to—”

Kirk held up a hand. “No more.”

Spock opened his mouth to argue, but then he closed it again. There had been occasions when, no matter how incorrect he had considered Jim to be, there had been no possibility of persuading him to alter his planned course of action. This was one of those times.

So instead Spock nodded and followed Kirk into the outer lab.

Marcus was gone. His younger self was entering information into a computer. His posture was unusually rigid, and his eyes were focused on his work.

“Did you find what you wanted, Commander?” Kirk asked.

“I believe, Captain,” his younger self said, “that I have been successful in discovering the location of the missing correspondence.”

Spock straightened, his eyes went to Kirk, but Kirk did not return his glance and was already striding forward.

“You have it? What does it say?”

His younger self turned toward Kirk. The emotions in his eyes were complex.

“It is not yet in my possession.” He tilted his head downward, as if with regret. “However, I anticipate having an image of the documents momentarily. The actual correspondence is being analyzed for further contamination and indicators of its origin.”

“Good.” Kirk was nodding. “So where was it?”

“There were, in actuality, two letters, one inside of another. The outer one was addressed to my father. A member of Starfleet recognized his identification code and once my older self’s possessions were released, Sarek was located and it was sent to his residence. But as he has been off world, it was not discovered until I was able to track its location. The second correspondence was discovered when my father opened the first letter. It was addressed to the ambassador.”

Kirk frowned. “This was someone’s screw up?”

“It is unlikely that any regulations were broken in this occurrence.”

“Still, to take—”

“It has arrived.” His younger self opened the image file on his PADD and Kirk immediately took it out of his hand.

Kirk held it so all of them could see the screen. There were two letters, the second longer than the first. They had been composed in an unusual and somewhat messy font. Kirk enlarged the image so they could read the text.

 

Sarek,

Greetings and Felicitations!

It is of utmost urgency that this letter and my gift be delivered to Spock (your son). I will have to trust in your ability to follow through as I am unwilling to go traipsing about with the Romulans.

Do not fail me. More is at stake than you know.

While your kind has become familiar with mine by another name, for the sake of consistency, you may know me as “T.”

Sincerely,

“T”

 

 

Spock felt the unmistakable sensation of both recognition and dread.

His younger self exchanged a look with Kirk before they turned to look at him.

“Do you know who ‘T’ is?” Kirk asked.

“I suspect that, I may have possibly been somewhat acquainted with this being.” Spock paused, uncertain of how much he should explain.

His younger self saved him the decision. “I suggest that we continue reading before forming any conclusive theories.”

Kirk nodded, and scrolled down to the second letter.

 

 

Spock,

Greetings and Felicitations!

What have you done with yourself? Your dear captain is dead and now you are lost in the Romulan Empire. And as marvelous as our last visit was I’m not about to go chasing after you by ship. Why would I require the use of a ship, you ask? Well you see, it’s because I’ve suffered the incredible injustice of having my powers stripped from me, and am now forced to endure all the mundane, repetitive tasks of mortal existence. It’s terrible—although you, of course, must be well acquainted with such misery already.

In any case, you must understand that I have been blamed for a great wrong. Something crossed into the realm of your Federation’s understanding long before it should have, and the results have been most unpleasant.

Fortunately, you have suffered from this occurrence nearly as much as I have!

And because of this, I have a boon to offer you! How does this boon work, you ask? If you accept, you will have a once in a lifetime opportunity to redo part of your existence. Surely, as a mortal, there must be something you regret? With enough time, it’s possible to regret almost anything.

Now, unfortunately, without my abilities we must rely on primitive chemical methods. You’ve heard the Terran tale of “eat me” to grow large and “drink me” to grow small? Well in this case it’s “breathe me” to grow young. Simply ignite the gift I’ve included, take a few breaths, and in a mere ten of your Federation’s days, you will be perfectly in sync with the moment most fitting for your return. You will then be merged with a specific point in your past, and your life can be re-lived.

But what about the life you’ve led? This won’t erase what occurred. Because you see, when an event alters the timeline, an alternate reality is created. You may find it difficult to believe in the existence of such things, but trust me, they do. But since two lifetimes would be too much for your limited mind to handle, you will be relieved of the burden of those excess memories.

Upon the acceptance of my offer, you have to do but one thing in return. In your year 2293, prevent the three ships that contacted (what you call the Nexus) from doing so. Once the continuum is sufficiently impressed that the plan is in motion my powers will be restored (which is ridiculous, really, because if I had my powers now I wouldn’t have to rely on your help).

While you consider my offer I will leave you with a muted hip hip hoorah and tallyho.

Trelane

P.S. I do wish you’d hurry.

 

 

Kirk’s brow was deeply furrowed. “Does this make sense to you?”

“The continuum,” Spock said quietly.

“The continuum?” His younger self asked.

Spock looked at him. “You will encounter them at a later time.”

“And this continuum,” Kirk pronounced the name as if even the syllables were worthy of mistrust, “has the power to send you back?”

“If my assumptions about the nature of the author are correct—then I believe that it is indeed a possibility.”

There was relief, inadequately masked, on his younger self’s face.

“How do we know this will work?” Kirk asked, and he seemed to grow even wearier than he was before.

“As eight years have passed between the offer and my acceptance, I am not certain that it will. Also of consideration is that I was in my own timeline when I was given this, and crossing into this one may create unexpected effects.”

“The letter said ten days.” Kirk paused. “How long has it been?”

“It will have been exactly ten days in twenty-three point seven hours.”

“What is the significance of your age at that time?” His younger self asked.

Spock paused to calculate. “I will be approximately thirty-eight point six years old. I would have been stationed on the Enterprise during the third year of our five year mission, although I am uncertain of the exact date of my return.”

“We need a backup plan in case something goes wrong,” Kirk said.

Spock did not think a backup plan with any likelihood of success was feasible, but he nodded. At the least, it would be an effective means of passing the time.

 

#

 

Later, Spock was alone in his room. He had insisted that he needed to rest, to meditate in seclusion, to prepare for the next day, and had made the recommendation to Kirk that he seek out his younger self to invite him to play chess. It had, after all, given him many opportunities to deepen his understanding of Jim. Kirk had been reluctant, however, for in this reality he had never learned how to play.

The fatigue pulling at Spock’s mind was not as strong as his anticipation of tomorrow. Hope was a powerful stimulant, even if he was not fully willing to embrace it. There were too many factors that remained unknown. When beings with great power manipulated the lives of those with less, the outcome was rarely of mutual benefit.

The chime at his door was unexpected.

“Hey, old friend,” Kirk said when Spock allowed him entrance. In his hands was the box for a 3D chess set.

“Captain,” Spock said, and for a moment he missed the familiarity of being called by his name. But it passed.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to be able to sleep for a while tonight. I thought we could make good use of the time.” Kirk shifted his grip on the box. “Where do you want me to set this up?”

“When I suggested for you to play chess, I had meant with my younger self.”

“On the desk it is then.” Kirk set it down. He frowned at the contents before beginning, experimentally, to connect one tier to another.

“Did you—”

“I spoke with him.” Kirk did not elaborate.

After a time, Spock asked, “Was he not receptive to speaking with you?”

“No, he was receptive.” Kirk smiled with satisfaction as he slotted one of the boards onto the stand. “We are going to start taking our evening meals in the officers’ lounge together. That way we can catch up on the finer details of running this ship, and maybe get to know each other a little better.”

“I hope that you will both find fulfillment in such an endeavor.”

Kirk had finished attaching the tiers to the base. He lifted a white rook from the box.

“Me too,” Kirk said. “Ok, I know one person gets white and the other black, but you’re going to have to teach me beyond this point.”

Spock moved to sit at the desk. “Was my younger self unwilling to teach you?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Spock did not know what to say.

After a time, Kirk continued. “I thought I’d have you give me a head start.”

“Logical.” Spock began setting up the pieces.

“You never did show me, you know, about you and other me.” Kirk made a gesture that was vaguely in the direction of his meld points. “But in a way, I kind of liked having you tell me.”

Spock was uncertain if he felt the same, but it was…agreeable to know that Kirk was content with what had, and had not, occurred.

“Do you mind if I keep a copy of the recording?” Kirk asked.

Spock felt the edges of his mouth lifting, but he smoothed them back down. “You may keep it as long as you wish.”

 


	5. Out of the Nowhere Into the Here

**Day 11**

 

 

Spock’s suggestion that he spend the hour awaiting his possible departure alone in meditation had been unanimously rejected. There had been the suggestion of a ship wide sendoff party, but he had declined. The outcome of his situation was still uncertain, and even had it not been, he had never been fond of being the center of so much scrutiny, no matter how well-meaning. Kirk and Uhura had not only understood, but were instrumental in reducing the gathering to a minimal size.

Spock had made a brief stop by the science labs and engineering to give his thanks and say goodbye before he went to the location that, had he been allowed to choose his point of departure, would have been his last choice. Although he did admit that, if there were any unforeseen problems, being in sickbay would have some advantages.

McCoy ran the scanner over Spock for the eighteenth time since he had taken his seat on the biobed. He had long thought the doctor used his instruments as a way to occupy his hands when under duress, and his current behavior only confirmed it.

Kirk, Uhura, and his younger self were the only others present.

Spock was now thirty-eight point eight years old. The last one hundred and nineteen years of his life were nothing more than scattered fragments. While a few memories remained vivid, none were clear. He remembered some of the important lessons from his experiences, that there was some benefit to his divided nature and that an individual could be as important as the whole. He did not know if he would be able to retain this knowledge so that it would help him if he did have the opportunity to relive parts of his life. But he hoped.

Uhura was first to say goodbye.

“Please, take care of yourself.” She smiled, but her eyes were bright. “I’m going to miss you.”

“As I you,” Spock said. “I intend to deepen my acquaintance with your counterpart upon my return.”

She started to put her arms out but stopped. “May I?”

He nodded as he strengthened his shields in preparation for the contact.

She began tentatively, but when his arms joined hers she tightened her hold.

When she let go she gave him a parting salute. “Dif-tor heh smusma, Spock.”

He returned the gesture. “Dif-tor heh smusma, Nyota.”

Spock turned to his younger self. “Commander, probability suggests that, provided my departure is successful, this will be the last time we speak.”

“And during this opportunity you intend to impart some ‘words of wisdom,’ as the expression goes.” His younger self folded his hands behind his back in studied patience, but his expression betrayed his curiosity.

McCoy rolled his eyes and turned toward the other humans present, but both Kirk and Nyota were focused on the conversation. For a moment Spock was distracted by the intense manner in which Kirk was looking at him, but then he was able to shift his focus back to his younger self.

“I had intended to. At first,” Spock said.

His younger self raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?”

“But I no longer consider it necessary. I believe we are capable of being an accurate judge of what the preferable course of action is, in any given situation.”

His younger self tilted his head slightly as he considered the words. It was unlikely that he believed them to be factual, but he would—in time.

Kirk stepped forward. “So I take it I’m also capable enough not to need any words of wisdom?” His smile was as easy as his tone, even if his eyes said something else.

“Take heed of Trelane’s letter. While matters will, undoubtedly, unfold differently for you, if in the year 2293 you are asked to go on a tour in the Enterprise NCC 1701-B, you must refuse.” Spock suspected that the continuum would take measure to prevent Trelane’s mistake from occurring in this reality as well, but it was not a risk he was willing to take.

Kirk laughed, but beside him Spock could see his younger self committing the facts to memory.

“You have my word,” Kirk said. He pulled Spock into a tight embrace.

Affection, worry, and sadness passed into Spock, but rather than shield or end the contact, he lost himself in the emotions. They were so similar to his own.

But they were not alone. And his time in this reality was short. With great effort, Spock forced himself to separate emotionally—if not yet physically—from Kirk.

Spock looked toward the others, and was surprised by what he saw on his younger self’s face. He had expected disapproval over the affectionate display, and perhaps jealousy, or even resentment that his captain held emotions for another version of himself. But he saw none of that.

He only saw concern. It was clearly meant for Kirk, as determined from where his eyes chose to linger, but some of it was for Spock as well.  

_A capable judge indeed._

“It could be any time now,” McCoy said. “I need to take another scan.”

Kirk tightened his embrace and then released him. “Good bye, old friend.”

“Live long and prosper,” Spock raised his hand toward him, “old friend.”

“You’d think this was a funeral the way you all are acting.” McCoy’s hands were unsteady as he extended his scanner toward Spock.

But he never began his reading.

He was simply gone. As was the room and everything—and everyone—it had contained.

 

#

 

Spock’s first sensation was one that humans would have difficulty understanding. It was like opening eyes that were already open. Of becoming, while having already been. Of believing everything to be stagnant, but then realizing that, in fact, only he was.

It was similar to the moment during a meld when the experiences of another seemed to suddenly become his own. It was not quite the same, but it did give him a small sense of familiarity, and with that the confidence to believe he could handle the transition.

He knew where and when he was because he had never _not_ been here. The last one hundred and nineteen years had never existed. Except that they _had._

The merge was disorienting, but his mind had cleared enough that he was aware that he was standing beside the transporter on _his_ Enterprise. But something was not right.

His ability to monitor time had returned and with it he was able to tell that it was no longer passing at the correct rate. Scotty was standing by the door. His movements were so slow that they were barely discernable.

Spock’s pulse quickened and a cold sensation slid deep into his abdomen. Something had gone wrong.

As he began to move toward Scotty, Spock realized that he was holding a small, glass vial containing an orange serum. He felt the weight of another one in his pocket. It was then that he remembered the aliens.

The Scalosians had trapped Jim in accelerated time during their attempt to overthrow the ship. They had intended to use the male crewmembers for breeding stock, but Spock had entered accelerated time to rescue Jim, and together they had removed the Scalosians from the ship.

Jim was standing in front of Spock. His pride and trust that Spock had the solution to return them to normal time was evident in his green-brown eyes. And for a moment, Spock was unable to say any of the things he had planned.

“Let’s test it then,” Jim said as he took the vial from Spock.

What had Spock said last time? Nothing. He had wanted Jim to go first so he could stay behind. He had baited Jim with the notion of an untested, potentially dangerous cure (even though the actual risk was statistically low), knowing that Jim would be unwilling to let anyone else take the risk.

How devious he had been.

“Jim, wait,” Spock said. It was the first divergence from this timeline, the first thing to cause a split. While he was aware that it must have happened, he was not able to detect the exact moment of the fission.

But it was too late. Jim was already downing the contents. When he was done, he looked around as if waiting for something to happen.

“No cause for alarm, Mist…ter…”Jim’s words began to slow dramatically. The last syllable was extended into an almost unrecognizable sound.

Spock reached for the dose in his pocket. He was not expected to stay behind. There was no reason why they could not repair the ship together.

Except that it would take weeks. The Enterprise would be unable to move and would be at the mercy of any passing ships for the entire duration of that time. The repercussions of such an interlude would be impossible to predict.

Trelane had suggested that Spock would return to the time that would be best for him to reintegrate, but there was a certain amount of mischief, of cruelty, in that Spock would wait for over ninety-five years to be with Jim again, and when reunited, was only allowed to be little more than a ghost on the ship.

Jim was beginning to make the “S” sound in “Spock.” For Jim it would be only minutes before he returned to the bridge and Spock reappeared. It would be sixteen days for Spock.

Spock put his arms around Jim’s neck, carefully, so as not to have an ill effect on Jim’s balance.

“I have longed to hear your voice, but it was not my intent for you to spend the next five minutes saying my name.” He laid his head on Jim’s shoulder and inhaled. He remembered his scent. It had changed little over the years. “But I will accept anything you have to give.”

 

#

 

Maybe it was preferable that Spock underwent a period of adjustment before his return was complete. It gave him time to re-familiarize himself with his surroundings, as well as the opportunity to plan how to initiate a romantic involvement with Jim.

Jim was not his. Not yet. Spock’s success with Kirk was not a reliable indicator of what would happen if he were to approach Jim now. Kirk had been lonely, whereas Jim was not.

Spock had detected Jim’s desire for him on many occasions, but there was no reason to believe Jim would be open to an intimate relationship while he still had command of the Enterprise. When they had bonded, it was when Jim’s duties as an admiral had left long hours to be filled. By that point Jim was—although only by human standards— _slightly_ less physically appealing than when he had been younger. He had also recently spent several years without Spock, which may have increased his desire for him in the interim.

Spock had already decided that he was unwilling to recreate all of those parameters. He had no intention of leaving for Gol, and he intended to join McCoy in his attempt to persuade Jim to decline his promotion and thus retain his captaincy. Due to these changes there was a possibility that it would be a number of years before their relationship would grow beyond that of a deep, but professional, friendship.

He would have to handle the situation with tact, which was why when Spock returned to standard time he would not take his captain in his arms, press his mouth to his, and declare his devotion—his love—openly for all the bridge to see.

He would wait. He would practice restraint. He was proficient at such things.

For now, he repaired the Enterprise.

It was fortunate that the doors were able to detect his presence, or else movement about the ship would have been greatly hampered. Less fortunate was the speed at which they opened. But Spock had long ago learned the method of starting one door, and moving on to another task while he waited the seven minutes it took for the gap to be wide enough to slip through. He used the Jefferey’s tubes to move between the decks rather than the turbolift.

The ship was exactly how he remembered. The other one, while decent, was not home, and he was glad to see it go.

He visited Jim’s quarters even though he had no logical reason to do so. Spock had done the same thing the first time he had been in accelerated time, although he had used the excuse of checking for needed repairs in a location that would potentially impact the person most vital to operation of the ship.

The bed had been made, but that was deceptive. The scent of copulation, between the Scalosian woman and Jim, was still present in the air.

The first time there had been much to suppress. He had known that Jim would do anything to gain an advantage to save the lives of his crew and his ship. But it had not pleased his Vulcan blood to know that the one he favored had joined with another, even though he had no claim on him. He had convinced himself that he considered the activity distasteful—he never acknowledged the feeling for what it was.

But it was different now. The Scalosian woman was irrelevant. All that mattered was Jim, and his scent was enough to bring the memory back, to make it, not whole, but close. That he had forgotten the details of his most intimate touch—

No. There was no need, no benefit, in regret. Spock sat on the bed. His fingers rested on Jim’s pillow. He had been here before. He would be here again.

He did not remain long.

Spock continued to fix the ship. He no longer required excessive amounts of sleep, and so he stopped sleeping at all. Gaining sustenance from the synthesizers was problematic so he did not take time for that either. It was the same as before, except that last time while he had known of the threat that cell damage posed from Jim’s warning, he had been indifferent to the danger. After the confirmation of Scalosian woman’s intimacy with Jim he had closed off more of his emotions. He had avoided death because it would decrease the ship’s efficiency, but for no other reason.

But now that it was vital to him that he not be harmed, his very concern paradoxically made him more likely to make mistakes. A blade slipped next to his hand, a bruise was nearly inflicted by some casing, and a spark in an electrical component left him with a narrowly avoided burn.

The vial had developed an even greater importance than before as it was his only way back to standard time. Previously he had been content to leave it in his pocket, but now, out of concern that it would be spilled or crushed, he had placed it high on a shelf in his room. As a result, when adjustments in engineering created a vibration in the ship, the vial was knocked to the ground. It was unharmed, but the fear he had experienced as he searched for it had been difficult to overcome.

His memories continued to fade. He would never get them back. But he had Jim, and he would have him for a longer duration of time. Jim’s presence as he gradually made his way to the bridge was a reminder of that.

When Jim reached the inside of the turbolift, the repairs—and Spock’s ordeal—were halfway complete.

Once the doors were shut Spock would not see him again for two point seven nine days. The first time, he had experienced relief (although he had been hesitant to name that emotion then).

Jim’s hand was outstretched toward the handle in the lift. The urge to take advantage of the situation, to run his fingers along Jim’s was strong.

He had done it last time. Not now, but when he emerged—as two point seven nine days without Jim, when experienced, had been longer than anticipated.

It had been fairly chaste, a brush of their fingertips and a brief stroke of Jim’s cheek. He’d regretted it later when he’d learned that the Scalosian woman had done the same, pressed her lips to Jim’s when he was unaware of her presence. The knowledge of what she’d done had later caused Jim discomfort.

This was Spock’s opportunity to not repeat the same mistake. He would abstain until he was with Jim, until it was right.

But then, when there was only a minute remaining before the gap in the door became too narrow for escape, Spock succumbed to his impulse. This time it was with his lips as well as his hands.

And it was only a little chaste.

 

#

 

Despite the increase in his efforts, it still took Spock the equivalent of sixteen days to fully repair the Enterprise.

He held the vial carefully as he stood beside where Jim was seated in the command chair.

“Nuh'mau-wak, ashayam,” Spock said even though no one could hear him. But it was true, it had been too long.

Spock swallowed the orange fluid. The taste was acidic, but easily dismissed. The effects were almost immediate.

Jim’s face was transformed by a smile as his eyes focused on Spock.

There was a difference, Spock realized, between being seen and being _known._

“Mister Spock,” Jim said. His smile remained, but his eyes performed a slow, careful scan of Spock, “my compliments to your repair work and yourself.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Spock said. His next line, however, was difficult to voice as it was so far from what he wanted to say. “I found the experience accelerating.”

Jim’s expression indicated amusement, but his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he had detected Spock’s hesitation. But he only gave Spock a small nod. He would not question him in front of others if it was avoidable.

“No malfunctions anywhere?” Jim said, addressing the bridge in general, and then he was momentarily distracted by the accidental replay of the Scalosians’ distress call.

Spock went to his station. He had duties to perform. But his fingers were clumsy, and his motions delayed.

It was hard to remember that this was all he was—the science officer and the first officer on the starship Enterprise. He was thirty-eight years old. He had no bondmate, and he was not betrothed or otherwise. He had never been to Romulus or watched Vulcan’s destruction. He had never been one hundred fifty-eight years old and stranded in an alternate universe, but neither was he truly in his original one. He was young and unclaimed, and so much had yet to happen.

“Is everything alright, Mister Spock?” Uhura asked.

After Jim, Spock had intended to seek her out at the next available opportunity. Over two years ago she had expressed an interest in learning more about the Vulcan texts that he owned, but he had never honored her request. It had been too long.

“I am—well, Nyota,” Spock said, and before he allowed himself time to consider his words, he added, “Perhaps, if you are so inclined, would you be willing to sing for us?”

It took him a moment to realize what he had done wrong. They had only just finished a deadly encounter with an alien race that had claimed the life of a crewmember. That his timing was inappropriate was revealed in her eyes, along with the surprise that he had suggested she do something he normally disapproved of on the bridge.

“Mister Spock,” Jim said from beside him, “is everything in order?”

“Affirmative, Captain, I—” he looked down at the controls and for an instant they seemed so primitive.

“Will you accompany me to the lift? I’d like to speak with you.” Jim had not made that request last time.

“Yes, sir,” Spock said, and he followed him into the lift.

The moment the doors closed Jim turned toward him. “How long were you gone?”

Spock’s eyes widened, and it took considerable will to force them back into an unaffected position. There should have been no way for Jim to be aware of what had occurred.

“I know,” Jim made a dismissive wave, “by standard time it was only minutes, but I want to know how long it was for you.”

_Of course._ Spock’s trepidation faded. “Sixteen point four days.” They had this conversation last time as well, although not until after they had completed alpha shift.

Jim frowned. “That was reckless, even the slightest amount of tissue damage could have—”

“Due to your recorded message, I was forewarned of the danger.”

Jim’s quick, slight nod implied that while he accepted Spock’s argument, he was far, far from conceding.

“You appear to be suffering ill effects.” Jim put a hand on Spock’s upper arm. It was warm even through the fabric. “You don’t seem to be yourself.”

Spock laughed. It was small and quickly suppressed, but it surprised him that it had escaped at all. He had thought his controls were in better place than that. It should have been another five years before he made that sound voluntarily.

Jim was more surprised.

He grabbed the lever for the lift and altered their destination.

“You’re reporting to sick bay. I want Bones to do a full check on you.”

“Jim,” Spock said, and by the stiffening of his captain’s shoulders he concluded that it had been the wrong thing. It was apparent that he would soon be confined to a biobed if he did not alter his approach.

“It’s possible the serum had a detrimental effect on your physiology,” Jim said. “Reactions to chemicals vary among humans, but Vulcan anatomy is another matter entirely.”

“I am experiencing no ill effects.” Spock did his best to appear as unaffected and steady as possible while Jim looked him over.

“So in those sixteen point...?”

“Four,” Spock supplied.

“…Sixteen point four days did you ever stop for rest or sustenance?”

He knew him well. “Negative, Captain. I am fully capable of going extended periods without either.”

Jim frowned. “But not without detriment.”

“Captain, I assure you that I am simply in the process of adjusting to standard time. I am fit for duty and my controls are nearly fully restored.”

Jim nodded, but it was more decisive than accepting. “Are you sure you’re suffering no ill effects from the serum or the acceleration?”

“Quite sure.”

The lift doors slid open. Jim stepped into the hallway and paused to make sure Spock would follow, which he did.

“Then you’re to report to your quarters. I order you to synthesize a full meal, get a full night’s rest, and consume a second meal before returning to the bridge tomorrow.”

“That is not necessary.” Spock detected a faint pleading edge to his voice, and he did his best to remove it. “I am fit to finish my shift.”

“I know you don’t like to spend time away from your duties.”

“My duties are not—it is—” Spock took a small breath. “I request to remain on the bridge, sir.”

“If not your duties then what is it, Spock?” Jim said, softening, but only slightly. They arrived at Spock’s quarters and Jim keyed in his code to open the door. “It’s only a few hours until your shift would be over anyway.”

As they stepped into the room Jim must have caught something in Spock’s expression, for he shifted modes. His eyelids grew heavy, and his voice became softer, lower.

“I know my company is pleasant, but surely you can stand to be away from me for so short a time.” It was in jest, gentle teasing, but how easily he used charm as he used all the tools at his disposal.

It stole Spock’s breath—which became evident when he attempted to say, “Jim,” and it was merely a whisper.

Jim’s disapproval returned in force. “You’re going to bed. Be grateful I don’t make it two days. Go lie down, and I’ll bring you some type of nutritional drink.”

Spock did as he was told. There was no sense in arguing as it was a series of his own errors that had brought him to this point. Maybe after some meditation he would finally be able to stop making them.

When Jim returned Spock was lying on top of his covers. He was still in his uniform, although he had removed his boots.

Jim frowned as he handed him the drink but did not say anything. Then he nodded, as if to himself, and turned to leave.

It was too soon. “Captain, wait.”

He turned back immediately and stood by the edge of the bed.

“Yes, Mister Spock?”

Spock swallowed. He had to say something, but nothing that was permitted was adequate.

“I had assumed that I would find...solace while in accelerated time.” Which was true, although only during the first time he had experienced it.

Jim’s posture seemed to relax. “You expected to enjoy the break from all of us illogical humans.”

Spock nodded. “It is not always preferable to be unique. It is, in a way, to be always alone even among many, and I had thought to experience that less while unseen.”

“There is something to be said for being invisible.” Jim pulled in his lower lip as he nodded. “It can be pleasant for a while, but it doesn’t last.”

“It does not.”

“Well, welcome back, Mister Spock. On this ship, you are never alone.”

Spock reached up, his hand seeking Jim’s. He had done this once before, or would have in another future. But it was too soon in this reality, and he began to pull back.

But he could not because Jim’s fingers were wrapped tightly around his.

“You are the best first officer the Enterprise could have. She relies on you.” Jim’s lip turned upward slightly. “Do you know how inefficient this crew would be without a Vulcan on board?”

Jim was conveying his affection, his appreciation for his friend in words that Spock would have no objection to. He was ensuring that his message would have only its intended response, and not cause him any discomfort.

Spock loved him for it. And for so many things. He loved him so much.

But it would not be acceptable to tell him. Not yet.

Instead Spock said, “I took advantage of your person while in accelerated time.” He knew that he should not have said the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Jim appeared confused, but not nearly as apprehensive as he should have been, by that statement.

“And how did you do that, Mister Spock?” His tone was free from judgment, as if his faith in Spock was too great to believe that he could ever do anything truly deserving of reprehension.

It was more than Spock deserved. He was, after all, no better than the Scalosian woman.

“I kissed you.”

Jim looked stunned. But not particularly disturbed.

“I apologize,” Spock added.

Jim’s expression did not change. “Why?”

“It was an unforgivable trespass to do so without your permission.”

“Not that, why did you kiss me?” His other hand joined the first in its hold on Spock’s, as if he expected him to attempt escape.

He would not. But neither could he answer. He dropped his gaze.

Then Jim was kissing him.

His lips were warm and demanding. But they were gone before Spock could return it.

Spock’s mind was unable to formulate an explanation. He searched for one on Jim’s features.

Jim was smiling, but it was uncertain. “I’m taking the next step. That seems to be the winning strategy today.”

“I was gone longer than I intended.” Spock was not making sense. It was disturbing to listen to.

But Jim only nodded slowly as if he understood. “Well, you’re back now.”

“Jim.” He leaned toward him, and this time when their lips met it was gentle, and somehow it was new. It would be so much more.

Jim released his hand as he sat down beside him. He cradled Spock’s face as he deepened the kiss.

After a while, he pulled away, but only far enough to speak.

“I should go.” Jim pressed his forehead against Spock’s. “I have a ship to command and you need rest.”

“Stay.”

Jim turned away, but he did not leave the bed. Instead, he leaned forward to activate Spock’s vid screen, revealing a startled looking Uhura.

Spock felt his skin heat, and he propped himself up on an elbow, attempting to appear as dignified as he could while lying in bed next to his captain.

“Lieutenant, Mister Spock is in need of rest after his ordeal, and I’m going to stay here and make sure he gets it. Will you tell Mister Scott he has the conn until relieved by beta shift?”

“Yes, Captain.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but she refrained.

“Thank you, Lieutenant, Kirk out.” He switched off the screen.

And then Spock was pulling him onto the bed beside him.

 

 

 

Art by [uss-whatever](http://uss-whatever.tumblr.com/)

 

 

 

Art by [princessofswordsart](http://princessofswordsart.tumblr.com/) who can also be found at: [sarahstarseed](http://sarahstarseed.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this!


End file.
